The Wolf and the Stag
by Jlovesallfandoms
Summary: "I have a son, you have a daughter. Let us join our houses." Arya Stark, the Princess in the North, was now promised to Gendry Baratheon, the heir to the Iron Throne, the eldest son of Cersei and Robert Baratheon.
1. The Bear and the Maiden Fair

As soon as the carriage arrived at King's Landing, Arya Stark leaped out and stared with awe at the courtyard of the Red Keep. The weather in the South was much different than the North's, as was everything else. Ned was slower to exit the carriage than Arya. Behind him trailed Margaery, Robb Stark's pregnant wife.

Margaery insisted to travel with The Lord of the North's party to King's Landing, wishing to "experience the beauty of the South" before her child was born. Robb agreed, letting his wife and their unborn child travel with his father and his sister to the Capital. Her engagement to Arya's brother was a prosperous one, bringing luck to both House Tyrell and House Stark. Only having been married for five moons, Margaery was showered with praise for being with child from their wedding night. With Robb now ruling as the King of the North, Margaery has successfully obtained the title Queen in the North. She was nice enough. Sometimes, Arya even believed Robb loved his wife. At least unlike Arya's sister she didn't make Arya try to become a Lady during her time in Winterfell, dressing her in queer apparel and do boring activities such as embroidering. However, Margaery found somewhat of a sisterhood with Sansa, becoming close in only the few moons they've known each other, before Sansa was shipped to King's Landing for her own engagement.

Catelyn and Sansa Stark filed out with a few other ladies of court to greet the party. Catelyn and Ned hugged each other as if they haven't embraced in years rather than only six moon turns. Sansa smiled warmly to her little sister. Her fiery red hair and Tully face has grown even more beautiful ever since the last they've seen each other. She wore a Southern dress and her hair was put up into a birds nest like the rest of the ladies of court. Nonetheless, Sansa seemed genuinely happy to see the face of Arya, much to her dismay. Even Nymeria, Arya's Direwolf, eagerly greeted her own sister, Lady, who was nuzzling herself beside the hem of Sansa's dress, despite being a full-grown wolf.

After small talk of how Winterfell has fared and how Sansa and Catelyn liked the South, Arya sneaked away from the courtyard, wanting to explore the Red Keep with her own eyes. Nymeria seemed to pick up on what she was doing, because the wolf followed Arya's footsteps closely. Between conversations with Margaery, Sansa seemed to notice Arya slowly parting away from the courtyard. Rather than reprimanding her, she only gave her a faint and subtle smile before replying to Margaery. _Engagement has seemed to do well to Sansa,_ Arya thought to herself.

* * *

Of course Arya has heard stories and tales and myths of the bones of the dragons under the Red Keep, and so of course Arya had to see for herself. Blending with the shadows, Arya snuck deeper into the dungeons, too swift and sneaky for the eyes of the guards. Nymeria padded close in front of her, as if the wolf was leading the way. After treading deep enough and weaving throughout the halls, the air of the underground started to become stale. Wrinkling up her nose, Arya coughed. The noise echoed and resonated throughout the empty dungeon, sending an eerie wave of uneasiness. Bravely remembering her resolve, she took a deep breath and strut forward. It wasn't long until she stared with awe at the great dragon skulls. Her stomach dropped and her eyes widened. The dragon's jaws were taller than Arya herself! Lit up by the torches lining the wall, the skulls seemed to glow and hum with whatever life still in it, as if the magic of the dragon never left this dungeon.

Just as quickly as Arya discovered the bones, Nymeria barked, warning her that an intruder was coming. Without thought, she quickly hid beneath the dragon's skull, and hauled Nymeria next to her so they won't be found. She held her breath as the door to the hall opened, and Nymeria let out a low growl. Wanting to calm down her Direwolf, Arya stroked Nymeria's fur. Hearing her wolf's growl, Arya watched brown boots lurk closer and closer to her hiding spot. Without a warning, a hand darted down and grabbed Arya's arm, pulling her out from under the dragon's bones.

"Ouch, let me go!" Arya's stomach swelled with pride when she realized her growl was just as scary as her Direwolf's. Nymeria matched her owner's anger, and before the wolf could pounce on the intruder, the man let go of her with haste.

The man's strikingly blue eyes looked over Arya with amazement, and then glazed over Nymeria with caution. "Are you okay, are you hurt? Do you need help getting out? Are you lost?" Questions flowed out of the man's mouth and he looked at Arya with both worry and curiousness. If the man knew she was Arya Stark of Winterfell, he didn't show it.

"I'm not _lost_." She snapped at the bull-headed boy. "I was just leaving."

"Do you need help navigating your way out of the dungeons? I'll escort you." He insisted as if she was one of those delicate and frail paper dolls that Sansa used to play with as a child.

"I can make my way out of the dungeons just fine on my own." She lied. Honestly, she had no idea where she was going. Arya spun on her heels, and walked to the door that the man came out of. Surely, that is the way.

"No you don't." The man called out the obvious. By the sound of his footsteps, she can tell he was following her, and he was trying her patience. With her hand on the knob of the dungeon's door, Arya was ready to exit the hallway and leave the man behind her. Before she could, he dared to laugh at her. "If you go that way, you'll only go deeper into the dungeons."

Her hand stopped cold on the door. Sighing and rolling her eyes, she turned around to look at the man. He had hair at the length of her Brother Robb's, but unlike her brother, it was straight with small strands of the darkest brown falling to his face. His blue eyes were taunting her, and he was trying to suppress a smirk. Everything about the man irked Arya._ He must be one of the King's Bannermen or something of that sort_, she thought to herself. He wore no armor, and only a plain tunic and trousers, dirtied from riding horses, but he wielded a war hammer on his weapons belt. _But why would a Bannerman wield a war hammer around the castle? Perhaps he's a knight who doesn't like to wear his armor?_

Too prideful to agree, she only followed the man as he led her the other way. "So what's a _Lady_ doing wearing trousers and going through the dungeons all by herself with a wolf following her?" He walked at her pace next to her and raised an eyebrow questioning her reasons. _He really must be thick. Only Stark children have Direwolves as companions, and everyone in the Red Keep should be out enough to know that. Even when they were only pups, word and gossip has already spread. _

"I wanted to see the dragon bones." She shrugged. "And trousers are just more comfortable than dresses, and I am _not_ a Lady."

"If you're not a Lady, then what are you doing in the Red Keep? You aren't dressed as a handmaiden or a whore, and you are too pretty to be a prisoner."

She scoffs at the man's would-be compliment. Before she could reply back an equally snarky comment, she sighs and deducts that he must have been jesting with her. "I have my reasons." Not wanting to reveal her identity, she shrugged again.

He opened the final door out of the dungeon, and she was greeted by the familiar light of the castle. It seemed that his route was shorter than her detour down. Facing the man and wanting to seem at least a bit intimidating, she looked him in the eye. She then abhorred her height difference. Compared to him, she was only a small mouse. He must have been at least a few years older than her as well. "You will tell _nobody_ of this."

"I would never betray My Lady." The man laughed. Arya frowned and pushed him, not too hard that it would be serious, but just hard enough.

"Don't call me My Lady!" She hissed.

"As My Lady commands," The man laughed again, thinking that his own words were amusing. Arya pushed him again, harder. He fell to the floor this time, but he didn't mind. He was too busy laughing. He gasped between breaths, "Well that was unladylike of you."

Arya groaned and stormed away from the bull-headed man, giving up on him. It wasn't long before one of her father's Bannermen found and addressed her.

"Lady Stark, your mother has summoned you. If I may escort you to her," Without her agreement, the man started leading the way to her mother's temporary quarters in the Keep. Arya sighed and readied herself for a string of arguments.

* * *

"_Arya Stark_," Her mother said, fuming, "I let you out of my sight for _one second_ and you disappear! You are nearly six-and ten, and you still act like a child. I have given up on trying to make you a Lady long ago, but at least act more controlled. I haven't seen you for six moons, are you are so quick to go." Her mother's expression softened for a second. Then it quickly returned to before. "Thank the Gods, Old and The New, that your father's Bannerman found you when he did. The King is throwing a feast for your father's arrival tonight, and we must get you ready."

Arya sighed, but didn't want to argue further with her mother. They chained Nymeria in the stables with the horses while a few handmaids scrubbed Arya's skin to the bone, getting every single substance of dirt off her as they could. Roses floated on the rim of her bath water, and Arya watched them dance in the water as the other handmaidens washed her long Stark brown hair. After she was properly bathed, her mother dismissed the handmaids. A dress was chosen for her already specifically for the feast.

"Sansa wanted a dress made for you upon your arrival." Catelyn informed Arya as she helped her get into the gown. "It may not be an exact fit, but they went off Sansa's measurements and only a size smaller."

"Where is Sansa?" Arya asked. Surely, she would've been getting ready with her sister and mother.

"She is with Margaery." Her mother replied.

Arya frowned and stared at her reflection in the looking glass. The cloth around her bust was too tight, making it as if she was a whore. The area where her hips should've filled in was baggy, but her mother was quick to pin the fabrics so it looked custom sewed for her size. The dress was a pale blue color with embroidery of golden flowers stitched in, similar to the kind of dresses that Margaery wore. Arya knew her sister meant well, and wanted the dress to be a gift, but that didn't mean Arya had to enjoy it. The bodice was terrible confining, and the pins her mother placed in the dress poked her skin endlessly.

After her mother was finished with her dress, she sat her down on the room's vanity and let her long brown hair stay down, with a single braid down the top middle, the way some Northern women prefer. Arya had to admit, she was grateful her mother didn't make her wear her hair the way the Southern women wear it. She then put rouge on her cheeks and lips, much to her disagreement, but her mother didn't care.

"You look beautiful." Her mother smiled and looked at the looking glass with Arya.

"I look like a stranger." She sighed. In her opinion, rouge made her cheeks and lips look too red, as if they were bloodied. The powder applied on her face was too light, making her look too pale, as if she was dying. The dress hugged her uncomfortably, and in all the wrong places. Arya Stark didn't look like Arya Stark. She looked like a wolf being stuffed into a dress and being forced to wear makeup. And that's exactly what she was.

"You look like a true and proper Princess of the North." Her mother kissed her forehead.

* * *

The feast was just as any other feast Arya Stark was forced to attend; boring. She sat down at a table while ladies and lords of court danced around her. Sansa and Margaery were the most beautiful ladies at the feast of course, socializing with others and dancing as if they were born to. It wasn't long before her father dragged her from her seat and danced with her himself. The music stopped and paused as the Royal Family made their way to their table. The fat and plump King sat next to his wife, Cersei Baratheon. She looked at everyone coldly as if they were all her enemies. She was beautiful though, in a scary way. Despite her age, her long and flowing blonde hair and her young face made her look like a siren to some men. Then, their children filed through behind them and sat down in their respectful spots. Tommen Baratheon, the youngest of their children, sat next to his mother. He was maybe as old as Rickon, but the mother still held her child close as if he was a baby. Still, the boy seemed kind enough. Myrcella Baratheon sat next to her younger brother, and she shared the beauty of the Queen. Already, her baby fat was vanishing from her face, and her body was forming to a woman's. The next Baratheon child sat down, with flaxen hair just like the previous three children, except he wore the prideful and cold expression of his mother. With complete astonishment, Arya watched as the last of the Baratheon children sat down. His brown hair and blue eyes were recognizable from a mile away. When he sat down, he smirked with satisfaction as he looked upon Arya's face of shock.

It was then, that Arya decided that she hated the heir to the Iron Throne.

Arya's father must've noticed her staring, because he looked between the oldest son of the King, and back to his daughter with curiosity. His face then contorted into amusement, as if he knew what she was thinking. As if she _fancied_ the man. _Father, you are far from the truth,_ Arya thought as she watched her father give her an all-knowing smirk.

"My friends…" The King rose to speak. "Let the feast begin!" The lords and ladies cheered as the music continued to play, but this time, more upbeat. Arya was passed through multiple lords as dance partners, much to her disliking. Even Renly Baratheon, her sister's betrothed, danced with Arya. He seemed nice and handsome enough, but he almost looked like the spitting image of the heir to the throne, too much alike for comfort. After he danced with Arya, and they talked nicely with each other, he went back to her sister. By the looks of it, he told her a joke, and she and Margaery laughed together as if it was the funniest thing in Westeros.

Cheers were louder as the music makers started to play The Bear and the Maiden Fair as drunken lords sang the lyrics. Just as Arya was about to return to her seat, one of those drunk lords seized her by the waist a little too harshly and pulled her a little too close. His hand trailed too close to her arse for comfort, and before Arya could seethe away from him, a man tapped her shoulder, asking her to dance. She thanked both the Old and The New Gods as she was passed along to him, thinking she was saved, but she only realized after she held his hand and after his arm was wrapped around her waist that it was Gendry Baratheon, the heir to the Iron Throne.

"_Oh I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair, and I'll never dance with a hairy bear!_" Arya could even hear the drunk King start to sing along with the rest of the men.

"You knew I was Arya Stark, and yet you didn't tell me you were Gendry Baratheon." She glared at him as he spun her around, and she reluctantly continued to dance without enthusiasm.

"Of course I knew you were Arya Stark. What other Lady walks with a Direwolf as a companion, and wears trousers, and is brave enough to venture through the dungeons of the Red Keep, other than the famous Arya Stark of Winterfell? I thought My Lady knew who I was." Gendry laughed and shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, which it was.

"I told you not to call me My Lady," Was all Arya could hiss back in return. That only seemed to make Gendry laugh harder.

"_Then she sighed and squealed, and kicked the air! She sang: My bear so fair. And off they went! The bear! The bear_!" The men continued to shout as they tried to sing. Even Gendry joined in singing, and Arya decided then, that she hated the song The Bear and the Maiden Fair.

Looking around the feasting room, Arya saw her father and the King laugh amongst each other as what she could guess, reminisced old times, which Arya did not want to know what the King and her father did together when they were young. Sansa was sitting down with Margaery, like a proper Lady. Her betrothed seemed to be off drunk and laughing with Loras Tyrell, Margaery's brother. Arya heard that Loras and Renly were great friends, so Loras visited the Red Keep for his friend's wedding. But Arya could see the truth so clearly by only looking at the pair of men laughing together. And Arya felt bad for her sister.

It was then, that when the song ended, the King stood up and quieted the crowd. The King was so intoxicated with alcohol that his wife had to help him stand; else he would've doubled over. Arya's father returned to his seat and sat with her mother.

"My old friend, this feast was thrown and put together in haste to welcome you and your family to King's Landing, and to celebrate the betrothal of your daughter and my brother." People cheered, and the King wobbled. Ned looked worried and as if he was contemplating if he should tell the King to sit down before he embarrasses himself and his Kingdom, but thinks better of it. Then, the King lays his eyes on Arya for the first time. His eyes widen with recognition, and for a second, he looked sober. His mouth fell open to an O, and he stood there frozen. The Queen looked to my direction, trying to see what set the King off, and when she laid her eyes on me for the first time, she looked as if she was seeing a ghost. _Is it because I was dancing with their eldest son?_ Arya realized Gendry was still standing close to her, and she stepped away, wanting to put a safe distance between them. But the King and Queen didn't stop staring at her. Even Gendry seemed to catch on, and he looked at her oddly, but not knowing why his parents seemed to take a sudden interest in her.

"It's her… _Lyanna_…" The King gasped. Arya recognized her aunt's name. She looked to her father, and his eyes widened for a second, realizing what's happening. He then quickly stood up and walked towards his youngest daughter as if protecting her. "Ned," The King spoke, as if he regained his composure. The Queen's shoulders finally went down and she breathed out as if she got over the shock like her husband. "Ned, I should've married your sister long ago, but it is not too late. I have a son, you have a daughter. Let us join houses."

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! This is also my first time writing a fic for GoT, and ASOIAF.


	2. The Caged Wolf

The Queen was the first one to react. Her face became white, and just for once in her life, she lost her composure.

"My love, the night is old. We should return to our chambers for the night." Cersei laced her hand through the King's, trying to fake affection and drag him out of the feast.

"No. Don't you dare take me away from Lyanna. I will never leave her again." The King stared at Arya as he addressed her dead aunt. His eyes stared and searched Arya hungrily, and Arya felt sick to her stomach. Ned put an arm on his daughter's shoulder, and his lips formed a thin line. When Arya looked to her sister and mother, Sansa looked scandalized and glanced at the king as if she couldn't believe he would do such an un-honorable act. Her mother, on the other hand, only frowned.

"The woman you see is not Lyanna, my sweet, Lyanna Stark died years ago. You are looking at Arya Stark." Cersei whispered into the King's ear, further trying to calm his craze.

But the King looked anything but unfazed. Before he could reply, my father went up to the King himself and placed his hand on his oldest friend's shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, Arya could see Cersei glancing at her brother. Without a second to lose, Jaime Lannister was at the King's other shoulder, and together, the Lord of the North and the Kingsguard escorted the intoxicated King out of the feast. Arya's mother didn't waste any time to gracefully excuse herself and follow her husband. Lords and ladies that attended the feast whispered and gossiped nervously amongst each other.

All Arya could do was stay planted in her spot, with her fists clenched in fury. How dare they… she thought, How dare a drunk King declare my future for me. I will not marry the Prince because a drunk bastard told me to. I am staying in Winterfell. I will never marry. I refuse to.

Arya could see Sansa and Margaery talking to each other in a hushed fashion, until Sansa finally stood up and went to where the King was standing. The crowd instantly hushed themselves in Sansa's presence. She raised her head up confidently and straightened her posture.

"My friends, let the feast continue! For the night is young, and the King was only sent off to get more ale. Let the music continue and the feasting last all night and all day." Sansa's words were like sweet honey. The attendants cheered, with the event of the King momentarily forgotten. Sansa smiled with satisfaction as the lute players continued to play, and so did the singers. The already drunken lords needed no more words of encouragement to just keep doing what they were doing. The ladies continued to gossip amongst themselves until Margaery came to them with a smile on her face, and got all of them to dance and sing merrily. But when Sansa looked to Arya, her eyes turned from kindness to bitterness. She narrowed her eyes down at her little sister and frowned as if Arya has done something wrong.

And that's when Arya realized. Sansa was born to be a Queen. In her eyes, her own little sister was going to be granted the future that Sansa can now never have, but has always dreamed of. All the kindness Sansa has dared to show Arya earlier this day was forgotten. Now, Arya Stark was an enemy.

* * *

The next morning, Arya and Sansa and Catelyn broke fast together in silence. They were all gathered in Catelyn and Ned's temporary chambers, and Sansa's temporary handmaiden while she was staying at the Red Keep, Shae, served the Stark women their food. None of them dared to speak a word about the catastrophic feast that transpired the evening before. That is, until Sansa opened her mouth.

"It isn't fair." Sansa growled. When she wanted to be, her bite was as terrible as any of the other Starks.

"Sansa…" Catelyn started, but Arya shut her mother out.

"Sansa, the King was drunk. It was an empty promise without any meaning. You are truly stupid." Arya snapped back in return.

"Arya." Cat was sharper with her younger daughter, but Sansa continued.

"It isn't fair that you get to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms when you never even wanted to be queen of anything! It isn't fair how you will marry the Prince, and I'm marrying a Lord. I am the eldest daughter, and I deserve a better match than the younger daughter." Sansa barked in retaliation. Both Arya and Catelyn looked to Sansa with shocked expressions. This was nothing like Sansa at all.

"Sansa!" Catelyn shouted between her daughters.

"Oi, what happened to all those songs you sang about how Renly Baratheon was 'my one true love!'" Arya put her hand over her heart and sing-sang the words Sansa used to so frequently repeat.

"Arya!" Catelyn's voice was like thunder now. Both daughters didn't dare to continue. "Both of you are acting like small children! Even Bran and Rickon don't act like this. They would be laughing at you both with the way you're acting." Cat then turned her head to her eldest daughter. "Sansa, I cannot believe how childish you are acting. You are to be married soon, and that is that. Your father is talking with the King as we speak to sort out what exactly happened last night. Both of you are grown and old, and you are still giving me more of a headache than Rickon."

Sansa had the nerve to stare at her younger sister still, until she finally put her napkin on the table. "May I be excused," She spat out less as a question and more as a demand.

"Go ahead." Their mother put her hand on her forehead as if she had a terrible impending migraine. Sansa pushed back her chair and stormed off, most likely to confine with Margaery. Before Arya could excuse herself as well, it was her turn to be yelled at this time. "Arya, even ifit was an empty promise from the King, it is high time you are to be married anyways. Sansa was two years younger than you when she was promised to Renly, and Robb was the same age when promised to Margaery. Your father and I were even considering to start finding Bran a match by now. You can't put off your marriage forever."

Watch me, Arya thought. "But I don't want to marry! I want to stay in Winterfell with Robb and Bran and Rickon."

"I am sorry, my daughter, but we women must make do with what we have." Cat smiled weakly. "Do not worry, your father and I will find as best of a match we can. We will never let you marry someone unworthy."

Arya frowned. Why does she expect me to be grateful for her choosing a "good" match? I shouldn't be in a situation where I need to be "matched". After silence, Arya sighed as well. "May I be excused?"

Her mother looked as if she was about to protest, as Arya has barely touched her food, but she only nodded and went back to rubbing her forehead.

* * *

After leaving her mother's chambers, Arya honestly did not know what to do. She has already seen the dragon bones the previous day, and that was all Arya was truly looking forward to. Arya definitely didn't want to go to the gardens. And why would she? Arya would only be laughed at and gossiped about right in front of her face by the ladies of court. So all Arya did was stay and sit on the bed of the chambers she was temporarily given. She felt like a caged animal ready to be butchered.

There were two dainty knocks on the door of her chambers. Arya's back straightened, and she craned her neck as if she was trying to look over the door. There were only two people that would knock on her door and be that graceful about it. It would either be Sansa or… "May I come in?" Margaery's voice sang through her walls.

"Come in, the door isn't locked." Arya answered, baffled. Why in the world would Margaery want to talk to Arya? Margaery opened the door and smiled to greet her younger sister-in-law. She wore a loose emerald green gown, contrasting with all the other Highgarden styled gowns she usually wore. This one was much more of a Northern style. It grazed over her swelling stomach beautifully, giving Margaery the perfect image of a healthy woman. One hand unconsciously went to her stomach and rubbed where her child was growing, and her smile grew wider.

"I thought I would find you here." Margaery came closer to Arya, and sat on the chair next to her featherbed.

"Why aren't you with Sansa?" Arya didn't mean to sound rude, but she was only curious.

Margaery smiled to herself and looked out the window of Arya's room. The window had a beautiful view of the bay, Arya had to admit. "Lady Catelyn is talking with your sister." Arya nodded, not sure what else to say to Margaery. She never really talked with the wife of her brother much, so why try now? Finally, Margaery spoke to end the silence. "Your sister told me of your troubles."

"Oh," Arya sighed and slouched back down on her bed, not quite up for another conversation about the drunk King's proposal.

"I understand how you must be feeling." Margaery spoke again, and placed her hand back on her stomach. "But you must understand, Arya. You don't know what this might turn out to be. Some women like ugly men, pretty men, pretty girls… most women don't know what they like until they've tried it." Margaery then got up from her chair and went to the side of Arya's bed, and held her hand in hers. "Us women must learn to make the best of our circumstances." Margaery smiled again, truly trying to reach out to the young Stark. "I know that when I was told I was to marry your brother, I wasn't quite in the best state, but look at me now. I'm in love, and I have a child in me. Things might not turn how you expect."

But this is different, Arya thought, you've always wanted to be married. You dreamt of being Queen one day, and that's what you got. I don't want to be married at all. But Arya didn't want to voice her thought aloud. Margaery's smile was contagious, and Arya couldn't help but only bring the corners of her lips up the slightest. Not wanting to discuss things with Margaery any more, Arya tried to sound as if Margaery has helped her state of mind. "Thank you, Margaery."

Margaery smiled again. "Come to me any time you wish, Arya. After all, we are sisters."

"Of course," Arya tried to return the smile. She then fake yawned and frowned sympathetically. "Forgive me, Margaery, but I am still feeling quite tired from last night."

"No need to ask for forgiveness." Margaery was already on her way to the door. With her hand on the knob, she turned to Arya one last time. "Perhaps when we return to Winterfell, we can go riding together."

"Yes, perhaps." Arya's smile was quite genuine this time, and she was fond of the idea of riding with Margaery. Or maybe she just missed Winterfell too much. Or maybe she was just grateful that Margaery didn't ask to embroider together with Arya, like she did with Sansa. With a final smile, Margaery exited the room as gracefully as she entered.

Alone again, Arya huffed and dropped herself back onto her bed. I King's Landing, Arya thought. I never should've visited; I should've stayed in Winterfell.

* * *

It wasn't long before Arya was summoned to her mother and father's chambers again. When she arrived, she wasn't expecting the crowd she was granted. Her mother and father sat together on a chair. Sansa sat on the edge of their bed with excellent posture, but her expression showed she hasn't quite forgiven Arya. Margaery sat next to Sansa on the bed, only giving Arya a smile of encouragement. On the other side of the room, the King and Queen stood next to each other, and the Prince sat on the chair next to them. As soon as Arya realized Gendry was in the same room, she looked at anywhere but him. She wasn't sure why, but for some reason her anger correlated with him as he's a bull-headed idiot, that's why.

When King Robert laid eyes on her, however, his focus was only on her.

"The King and I have been discussing this issue all day." Her father addressed her. His expression wasn't happy, but rather stressed, as if he's been arguing with the King all day and night since the feast. "We have come to a conclusion that the betrothal isn't official, but the offer is still standing. We both agreed that you should get to know the young Prince better, and if you still disagree with the match then… we'll come to an agreement."

But Arya knew that was impossible. It was already decided for her. The King would never allow otherwise.

She is going to be Gendry's bride, and there was no escape.


	3. Garden of Bones

It has been a week since Arya's betrothal was announced, and only a day more since she and her father and good-sister has arrived in King's Landing, and this morning was the morning of Sansa's wedding. Arya sat on her sister's featherbed in the Red Keep and watched as Cat dismissed Sansa's handmaidens so she could do her daughter's hair. Only one handmaiden stayed as she did Sansa's makeup. Arya recognized her dark hair and foreign features as Shae, apparently Sansa's favorite handmaiden.

"I remember the day I birthed you," Cat said as her hands wove through her daughter's red hair, forming it up into a Southern style. "And now I am readying you to be married." Her mother looked as if she was on the verge of tears.

"Mother, you are too dramatic." Sansa smiled as she looked at her reflection in the looking glass. "I will visit you and father in Winterfell. And you are always welcome in Storm's End."

_But not me,_ Arya added silently. Although the remote bitterness has faded away from Sansa, they still rarely spoke to each other since her betrothal. Sometimes, Sansa would even give her a small forgiving smile while they passed each other, but nothing else.

"I know that, but it is still a sad yet happy experience for a mother to dress her daughter for her wedding. I am sure you will share the experience in due time." Catelyn smiled at that idea and looked at Sansa with pride.

"What if I _only_ have daughters?" Sansa frowned and looked like a wilting flower. "Everyone in Storm's End will hate me."

"No one will ever _hate_ you, Sansa." Catelyn was quick to remind her daughter. Sansa didn't reply, but only sat in silence as Shae painted rouge on her cheeks and her mother braided the last of her hair.

Then, their father knocked on the door, and Shae got up and welcomed him in. Ned was holding the Stark cloak with a Direwolf on it. His expression matched that of his wife; happy, yet nostalgic.

"It's time, love," was all he said. Sansa took a deep breath and got up from her chair. Ned draped the cloak around her and tied it in place. Before they all left her chambers, her parents took a final look at her. Obviously, Sansa was beautiful. And she was always the beautiful Stark sister, while Arya was known as Arya Horseface. But Arya didn't mind. It was true, after all.

All of the Starks present for Sansa's wedding were dressed in their best apparel. Ned and Catelyn were both dressed in their house colors, with Ned in a grey tunic and Cat in a dark dress with white embroidery and detail. Arya was jammed into a Northern style gown with fringe at the neckline, despite the hellish weather the South granted them. Margaery was radiant in a Northern styled gown herself, flaunting her new house and her swelling stomach. Sansa however, was the most beautiful of them all. She was dressed in her new house's color, with a cheery Baratheon golden-yellow wedding gown. Her Tully red hair contrasted beautifully with her wedding dress, and her blue eyes shined with hope. Flowers were delicately stitched with white on her skirts. Sansa looked the happiest Arya has ever seen.

* * *

Of course, the wedding was beautiful. Even the precession itself was breathtaking, even for Arya's standards. The attendants of House Stark walked from the Red Keep to the Great Sept of Baelor with the High Septon of King's Landing and Septa Mordane. House Baratheon was already in the Great Sept of Baelor, waiting for the bride's family. Sansa held Margaery's hand for assurance, and they both waved at the crowds together as they weaved seamlessly through the townsfolk. The civilians of King's Landing adored Sansa and Margaery, despite their short visit. In the week before the wedding, they both visited Flea Bottom together and attended the orphanages and gave bread to the hungry. Arya was again hit with the sudden reminder that Sansa can never live the dream she has always dreamed. And so as long as it continues, Sansa will never truly forgive her sister.

* * *

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." The High Septon announced. Renly nodded and gracefully untied his own yellow and black cloak bearing the Baratheon Stag with a crown on its neck and wrapped it around his bride. To others Sansa would've looked like any other girl that was to marry a High Lord. _Except she took a deep breath_. Arya twitched when she saw her sister's subtle and unconscious reaction, and Arya was sure she was the only attendant who noticed, but she was worried and curious. _Has Sansa discovered the truth of her husband?_ Arya wondered to herself.

The bells of the Great Sept of Baelor rang a cheerful tune to announce that the King's brother and his bride have exchanged their vows, and Lady Stark has been cloaked. So then, the attendants proceeded from the Great Sept and to the Red Keep for the feast. Arya rode in the carriage with her mother and father and Margaery, while Sansa was riding with her new husband and new good-family. Arya picked at the dirt under her nails awkwardly and fiddled with the fringe at her neck, vowing to chop it off as soon as she arrived at the Red Keep.

As usual with all the other feasts, Arya sat alone and isolated on her chair as she continuously stabbed the roasted duck on her plate. But something didn't quite feel right. _The filthy King must be leering at me again,_ Arya guessed. But when she glanced to the side, out of the corner of her eye she saw the King groping some drunken lady that managed to find her way in the Royal Wedding Feast.

But this perplexed Arya even more. Completely disengaged with the demolished duck on her plate, she searched the room with her Stark grey eyes. Sansa was sitting at the Royal Table now, talking to the Queen and Princes Myrcella, like a true and proper lady would. But it was the man sitting next to the Princess. Gendry's blue eyes searched through Arya as hungrily as Arya wanted to escape the room. _What an improper bastard. If he wanted to talk to me, he can just as well walk over here. He doesn't have to grope me with his sight like his father._ Arya snorted and decided to have some fun at the feast. Might as well anyways, she was supposed to stay here all night.

Arya sneaked along the empty tables until she found an abandoned seat with a full goblet of Dornish wine. Some lord must've left it there in haste to dance. Without hesitation, Arya downed the entire goblet in one drink. Already feeling the buzz of the alcohol, she decided it was finally time to proceed. But before she got anywhere, she was stopped by a different man.

"My Lady?" He smiled to her, but looked awkward and embarrassed. His skin was tanned and had pale blonde hair and had blue eyes, not as magical as Gendry's, but they even appeared purple in certain lightings. "I am Edric Dayne the… the Lord of Starfall. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Arya."

What was Arya supposed to say next? He has already greeted himself, and he already knows her name so there's no point in introducing herself, and Arya sure as hell didn't remember any of her lessons. So she just went with it. "What brings you to King's Landing, my lord?" Arya decided to add the small 'my lord' at the end as a small touch.

"Why, to attend your sister's wedding of course." Edric smiled and walked to Arya's side and together they walked closer to where lords and ladies were dancing. "May I ask my lady for this dance?" He japed. Arya snorted. She liked the Lord of Starfall already. Edric placed his hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist lightly and almost touched her as if she was fire. As if he was scared of her. She knew he meant no offense, but rather he was too chivalrous. She didn't have to worry about tripping over her own feet because Edric was equally as awful. They talked a bit, and Arya laughed a bit, and then Edric laughed too.

When Arya looked up again to the bull-headed Prince, he so happened to glance at her from the corner of his eye. When he saw Edric and her arm-in-arm, he didn't just look away like a normal Prince would. No, he had the decency to _snort_ then look away. Arya frowned and looked back at Edric.

"To be quite honest my lady, I came here for another reason as well."

"Call me Arya."

"_Call me Ned."_

"Then, _Ned_, what other reason did you have to visit the capital?"

Ned looked at his feet and then to Arya as if suddenly conscious he's been dancing with her. He then put back on the mask he was wearing earlier, the embarrassed and shy mask. "My family thought perhaps our houses could have an alliance… through marriage. But with the sudden announcement the King made, I do not think that would be possible."

"Oh," Arya looked to her feet as well, and stepped back a bit away from Ned. _Of course, everything is about marriage. _

Before Ned could reply, a shout resonated through the feasting hall.

"_Time for the_ _Bedding Ceremony_," A lord announced. Other lords of the court cheered and snickered as they raised Sansa from her chair. She looked as if she was going to argue at first, and Arya felt a sudden ounce of pride for her sister, but then she just limped like a rag doll as lords she barely knew cheered as they tore her dress to pieces off her body.

Arya was disgusted.

Renly was faring no better as ladies giggled to themselves as they pulled off his tunic then carried him out of the feasting hall. But Renly was lucky. Margaery did most of the work, and tried her best to hide him from the guests, but a Bedding Ceremony was a Bedding Ceremony, and it was inevitable. Arya wasn't even sure _when_ Renly and Margaery bonded.

Staggering back to the nearest table, Arya managed to find another half-filled goblet of Dornish wine and emptied it again in one full gulp. Ned walked away somewhere during the Bedding Ceremony. _Probably to rip the dress off my sister, _Arya thought. Arya found another goblet and downed it all. _I hate weddings,_ Arya's mind babbled on as she downed each drink; _I will need a lot more of this Dornish wine to get me through the rest of the night._ Raising her head to the ceiling, she tried to count how many candles were on the dangling chandelier above them. She couldn't even count three before blinking and starting over…. which was a good sign in her mind.

But when she looked back to the feast and tried to walk, her footing betrayed her, and she was set to fall on the floor. A firm hand grabbed her arm with a soft yet forgiving grip, saving her just before she completely lost her balance. Looking up, all she could recognize were blue eyes.

"It's you." Arya grumbled.

"You've had too much to drink." His voice was steady and on the verge of sounding like he actually cared for her welfare. But she knew that wasn't true.

"Oh, have I now?" Arya giggled. "I've lost count."

"Come on now," Gendry tugged her arm again, but with less force. "I'll take you to your chambers before your parents notice your intoxication."

"Let them see me," Arya frowned, hardly thinking of the words escaping her mouth. "I'm a woman grown; I can make my own choices." Her eyes then cornered on a full goblet. "And my choice right now is that filled goblet of Dornish wine."

"No you don't," Before Arya could slip away he hauled her over his shoulder. _Just like how Jon used to._ Arya realized with a start, and almost thought she was sober, but blinked again and the drunken craze returned.

"Let me down!" Arya pounded on the Prince's back. "You wanted to take me away before my parents see me? Now they will see me all well since you're _carrying_ me!"

"I lied." Gendry started going down the hall of the feast, leading her away from the rest of the drunken lords and ladies. "Your parents left during the Bedding Ceremony. I'm making sure you don't embarrass yourself in front of the rest of the attendants."

"You're doing a terrible job." Arya gave up on hitting his back now. Now, she was just so tired. She became limp on his back and just let him drag her away. They were already out of the feasting hall, and on their way to the stairwell leading to her chambers in the Red Keep.

After a terribly long silence, Gendry decided to speak to her. "Is the Lord of Starfall to your liking, My Lady?" His voice dripped with sarcasm and attitude Arya had too much of a headache to deal with.

"_Seven Hells_, Gendry." Arya groaned and rubbed the sides of her forehead as she saw her mother doing quite often.

"You can't help that I'm curious about who my to-be-Lady Wife is dancing with at wedding feasts." Gendry retorted.

"I'm a person, not a bloody _goat_," Arya raised her voice, although her words here slurred together. Gendry apologized for his words, and Arya rubbed her temples, her head throbbing from the aftereffects of the wine. She groaned, "you stupid bull-headed Prince."

Gendry didn't reply, but only laughed at Arya. His laughter only agitated her more, but he finally set her down on the floor. She wobbled, so he placed his arms on her shoulders to steady her.

"This is as far as I can take you." He said, his blue eyes bringing her back to reality.

"Why?"

"I cannot go in your chambers." Gendry replied quickly, and almost acted like Ned Dayne when certain things were implied. Arya snorted at Gendry's sudden chivalry, which never seemed to be present before.

"I promise you that if you walk me to my bed that my maidenhead will still be intact." Arya rolled her eyes. She expected the Prince to scold her for using such harsh language, like others always do, but he never did. Instead, he laughed.

"As My Lady commands," He snickered as he helped her through the doorway.

"_DontcallmeMyLady_." Arya couldn't even form an understandable sentence for any longer. His laughing continued. When he helped her onto her featherbed, he pulled up the sheets and tucked her in much like how her brothers and father used to back when she was a small girl.

"Good night, Arya." The Prince was at her bedside bidding her goodnight, but the Northern Princess was already far too deep in her slumber to notice. For a moment, he watched her lay so peacefully on the plush featherbed. She looked so at ease and calm, and her beauty was obviously evident with the moonlight beaming off her now prominent cheekbones and smoothed skin. She looked like a normal princess. Gendry snickered at that thought. He knew that Arya was anything but a normal princess. Gendry even knew deep in his heart that if Arya was conscious and knew that Gendry was staring at her in this way, she wouldn't hesitate to fulfill her empty threats of injuring him dearly.

But that's why he found her so interesting.


	4. Tourney of the Hand

Arya sat in her mother and father's solar, with her fingers drumming rhythmically on the oak table. Her hair was greased and she wore a dirtied tunic and trousers, worn out from visiting the dungeons multiple times. There was simply nothing better to do during those empty days. Sansa and Renly often walked in the gardens together while they weren't in court. While Margaery herself wasn't in court, she often spent her time with her good-mother, letting Sansa warm up to her new husband. The Prince wasn't even an option. She often never saw him in the Red Keep anymore, with the last memory of him was back at Sansa's wedding feast, with the Prince staring at her while she danced with the Lord of Starfall. She honestly couldn't remember the rest of the feast, probably due to the fact that she downed all those filled goblets of Dornish wine.

Catelyn entered the solar, looking as regal as ever. Her posture was high, her Tully red hair glistened against the sunlight, and her Northern dress set her apart from all the dogs of the court. Yet as soon as she saw her youngest daughter, her peaceful expression went up in flames.

"_Arya Stark!"_ Catelyn screamed in horror. "Where have you _been_?"

Arya frowned and looked bored when she answered her crazed mother. "I was exploring the Red Keep."

"And why are you wearing trousers? And you look like you haven't bathed ever since Sansa's wedding!"

"I'll bathe as soon as you dismiss me, mother."Her mother's accusations were only partly true. On her way back from the dungeons earlier this day, she was stopped by one of her father's Bannermen, claiming that Lady Catelyn Stark has requested her daughter's presence, and then escorted her here.

Her mother sighed and sat on the chair in front of Arya, deciding to give up on the lifelong argument. Now only partially calmed down, her mother addressed her formally and with all seriousness, yet she used the condescending tone as if she was speaking to Rickon or even Bran, but not a grown woman like Arya Stark.

"You _do_ know the reason why your father came with us?"

"For Sansa's wedding," Arya guessed, but judging by her mother's expression, it wasn't the right answer.

"Your father and the King are old friends, Arya." Her mother explained. But Arya knew all too well the '_friendship'_ between the Lord of the North and the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Catelyn's expression became sober and saddened. "When Jon Arryn died of illness, the spot for the Hand of the King was empty." Arya's expression matched that of her Lady Mother's as soon as the notion fell into place. "King Robert summoned your father here with the request that he takes the position as the Hand. That is why ever since you've arrived in King's Landing, your father has been spending all his time talking with the King."

"But he _can't_!" Arya exclaimed, suddenly forgetting that she was upset with her mother only moments ago. "He's already done enough for the King. He's even marrying his only two daughters to the King's family!"

"I know that, Arya." Catelyn's expression saddened further. "But you cannot deny the request of the King."

Arya wanted to argue further, but knew that it wouldn't make a difference. Ned Stark will be forced to accept the new position in court as the Hand of the King. The Northern Lord through and through will be forced to stay in King's Landing with power he's never wanted._ A lone wolf stranded in a lion's den_.

* * *

The Hand's Tourney was scheduled only a few evenings after Ned Stark was announced with his new Title. Arya fidgeted uncomfortably in the dress she was forced to wear. The royal seamstress made a Southern styled dress for Arya, under Margaery's request. It was probably under good intentions, and the Southern dress was much more comfortable to wear in the South anyways, but she could only imagine how comfortable she would be in simple trousers. The fabric of the dress was light and thin, unlike the thick layers of fabric used in the practical Northern gowns. The sleeves were loose, and there was a silver metal belt cinching at her waist, and the dress itself was a pale yet murky rose color, while Margaery's was the brightest of blue's. Arya's dull brown hair was still braided in a Northern style, thanks to her persistent arguments with her handmaidens.

"I hear that the Prince himself will be competing in the Tourney." Margaery announced excitedly, expecting an equally excited reaction from Arya. But all Arya did was think of how annoying the stupid Prince was. Margaery laughed at Arya's expression and continued on dreamily, "I also hear that he's very _strong_ and _brave_."

"And _I_ hear he's a real pain in the arse." Arya added, but only in the lightest volume for her own enjoyment.

"What was that?" Margaery's voice chimed innocently.

"Nothing," Arya smiled to herself and followed her good-sister through the stadium's seating, until Margaery sat next to Catelyn and Arya sat on Margaery's other side. On the lower levels of the stadiums, Arya saw Sansa sitting next to her newlywed husband; both watching the empty space boringly while waiting for the Tourney to begin. Sansa wore a Southern styled gown as well, and her hair was styled in a Southern bird's nest. _They brainwashed her, _Arya thought sadly, _they made her forget her true home._

Arya's father was seated next to the King, in the Royal booth with the rest of the Royal family, including the Queen, all her children, and the Imp. They all sat awkwardly together, as if they were forced to be seated next to each other.

"I'm going to go walk for a bit before the Tourney begins." Arya told Margaery. Her good-sister smiled and nodded approvingly to Arya, allowing her to be dismissed. Arya rose from her seat and descended down the stadium, stretching her legs a bit and walking along the empty land. It was peaceful at first, that is, until she was interrupted by the bull-headed Prince.

"I hear you're competing today." Arya addressed Gendry without looking behind her. Because she knew he was already watching her. She was already becoming accustomed to that feeling. Just to confirm her thoughts, she turned around. Gendry was dressed in full armour, and held a shield bearing the Baratheon colours and insignia.

"What are you wearing?" He asked her, with a face as if he has seen a ghost. Arya scowled and crossed her arms, now even more self conscious than ever.

"I was forced into a dress." Arya grumbled.

"I think you look pretty."

"Stop lying to yourself." Arya sighed, now tired of all the lies that everyone in the Red Keep seemed to repeat quite often. She then laughed, "You're going to be marrying Arya Horseface, the 'Wolf Princess of Winterfell'" She repeated her title that all the ladies of court whispered, thinking Arya didn't hear. "Can you imagine; the 'gallant and dreamy Prince of the Seven Kingdoms', and 'Arya Horseface'?"

Gendry scowled and remained quiet, contemplating on what to say next. "If I win the Tourney, can I name you as the Queen of Love and Beauty?"

"_Absolutely_ _not_," Arya shook her head instantly. "I will slit your throat before you can even come to my seat with the bouquet."

And Gendry did not doubt Arya's threat.

"But then who will I crown?" Gendry jested with his promised.

"What makes you so sure that you will win?" Arya crossed her arms and returned the jest.

"If I _do_ win, then will you let me crown you as the Queen of Love and beauty? And then you will accept that you truly are beautiful, and so will every other attendant at the Tourney of the Hand. It will be our deal."

"And if you lose, then what do _I_ get to do?" Arya demanded for her part of the deal.

"One day, I will do whatever you wish or say." Gendry shrugged, since Arya didn't really think of anything better.

"It is a stupid deal, but fine." Arya shook Gendry's hand, and she returned to her seat in the stadium as he readied himself to win.

"Oh, and Arya," Gendry called for her before she could go too far. She turned around, still holding her skirts so she could walk properly. The Northern Princess looked at him expectantly, waiting without patience for the Prince to finish his words. After a look of uncertainty, the Prince finished before going to his own place, "Don't let them change you, Arya Stark."

* * *

_Don't let them change you, Arya Stark._ Gendry's words still rang in her ears. Fustrated over trying to uncover the true meaning of his words, and frustrated with the damned Prince altogether, Arya huffed when she returned to her seat next to Margaery. Her good-sister didn't seem to notice much, because she and Cat continued on in their goodhearted conversation of what they would name Margaery's child. Arya zoned out Margaery's words and stared at the dirt, waiting for the tourney to begin.

First was the archery tournament. This competition went by like a breeze with not so many competitors. _Perhaps Robb would've competed,_ Arya thought with a smile, _or maybe Jon. Oh, how much fun they would've had as the finalists, facing off against each other. _But Arya knew that couldn't, and wouldn't happen. Jon was the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, and he was at the Wall, far away from Arya. And Robb was in Winterfell, ruling as the King in the North.

A knight from Starfall won the archery match, and so the melee tourney was next. Many ferocious knights competed and failed as well as lords. All Arya could do during the match was jape in her mind of how well Arya could beat all of them. Trained with years of experience as a Water Dancer, Arya could easily take each and every single competitor without a single drop of sweat. When her father learned that Jon forged her sword, only after he left for the Wall, he scheduled so Arya could obtain lessons so that she wouldn't be a blubbering idiot girl swaying a knife in the air. And so Ned hired Syrio, a master Braavosi fencer, to teach Arya secret "dancing" lessons. So for years, Arya chased cats, got whacked in the knees, and sparred until she got to where she was now. But only the year before, Syrio left and returned for Braavos. He claimed that his work was finished; he taught her all he can. Then he told her to visit Braavos if she ever wanted to finish her training and become a true Water Dancer.

As Arya babbled on in her mind, reminiscing about her old "dancing lessons", she didn't notice how they were already down to the melee semifinals. The two matches left were Ser Meryn, a member of the Kingsguard, against Lord Beric Dondarrion. Each man fought with a fiery fever that continued with no end, until finally Lord Beric bested Ser Meryn with a blow to the chest, and with Lord Beric claimed as the winner of the melee tournaments.

The last was jousting, the competition Gendry was to compete in. A never-ending list of knights and lords alike competed, until it came to the finalists. The final two were, indeed, the Prince himself and the Kingslayer. All Arya could do as the two horses, Lannister and Baratheon, charged at each other, was put her hands together and pray to both the Old and the New that the Prince won't win, and he won't claim Arya as the Queen of Love and Beauty. No, anything but that. That was always what Sansa wanted, and not Arya Horseface.

Margaery seemed to notice Arya's concentration on the match because she just giggled and winked at the young Northern Princess with an all-knowing smile, then cheered for the Prince, much to Arya's distaste. The Queen herself was quite fascinated with the competition as well; eyes widened and encouraged Myrcella and Tommen to cheer for the Lannisters.

The Lannister and Baratheon horses charged with great force. The Kingslayer and the Prince's lances were aimed at each other, with Jaime Lannister's smirk showing through his helmet, and the Prince's concentration emitting from every breath. Every cheer from every attendant was blurred together in a fury as the lances met shields with a loud pang. With the power of a bull, and the bite of a wolf, Jaime's shield flew from his hand and he was unseated by the young Prince. Cheers erupted from the ladies of court and soldiers almost instantaneously. The Kingslayer shook hands with his nephew, and Gendry was given the flowers to crown a lady the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Keeping his word, he walked up to the direction of Arya's seat. _No, go away, go anywhere but my seat._ Apparently not being able to read minds, the Prince placed the wreath of blue winter flowers on Arya's head, laying flat against her braided Stark brown hair. All Arya could do was glare at him, but he gave her his hand and helped her from her seat, now with them standing together.

"To the true Queen of Love and Beauty!" He announced to the crowd. They cheered to the Prince and his Queen of Love and Beauty. Sansa looked to her sister not bitterly, but with a blank expression, probably trying to hide her hate. Arya's mother and good-sister smiled together and clapped all lady-like, congratulating Arya. But the King didn't cheer. The King didn't clap. All he did was stare at the young Stark wolf open-mouthed, and with his brown hair and beard streaked with gray, and the golden crown slanted on his head, Arya could already see the name forming on his lips.

"_Lyanna,"_


	5. The Wolf Damned With Lions and a Flower

After Sansa left the Capital to Storm's End with Renly, Arya has been left with frustration over her sister's last words. Before Sansa's departure, she spent the day walking in the gardens with Margaery, embroidering with her mother, and eating meals with her father. When the next morning came Sansa stood in front of her carriage. Renly was talking to the guards, most likely faring each other good fortune on their journey. Sansa looked radiant as ever. In the sunlight, her Tully features were illuminated. She always wore a sad smile when she believed no one was looking, but when she spoke, she plastered on a smile with the skills of Cersei Lannister herself. Arya wondered how Sansa has learned the ways of King's Landing so quickly.

After Sansa hugged Margaery, she went to Ned and Catelyn. Ned picked her off her feet like when she was a small girl. Cat kissed her daughter's cheek and smoothed her hair before hugging her farewell. Glinting in the sun, Arya could spot a few tears reflecting off her mother's Tully eyes. Then Sansa went to Arya. Her expression wasn't the fake Lannister smile like before, but now her real expression. Her face was emotionless and like stone, and her eyebrows were slightly furrowed as if she's spent her entire life frowning. Sansa bent down to hug her only sister, and it was an unexpectedly loving embrace.

"Don't lose him, Arya." Sansa's voice was but a sweet yet solemn whisper in Arya's ear. When Sansa pulled away, she replaced her expression with the one the Lannisters taught her. With a final wave to everyone, she departed on the carriage, following her husband and his guards who preferred to ride their horses.

Now, a week after Sansa's leave, Arya has been furiously agitated over uncovering the truth behind her sister's words. It was truly the only thing she took to now, with her father busy in council meetings and caring for the Seven Kingdoms, and Cat and Margaery often spent their time together as well. Sometimes, Arya would be found with Myrcella Baratheon, Gendry's younger sister and the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Together they'd usually wander around the Red Keep or discuss their favorite tomes in the keep's library while Myrcella wasn't in her lessons. Myrcella is most definitely the most likable member of the Baratheon. Robert is just a drunken King. Cersei is a witch with her words and false cunningness. Joffrey is just an idiot prince. And Gendry… Arya couldn't find exactly what about the heir to the Iron Throne irked her, but something about the Prince just seemed to always bug Arya.

"Lady Arya," Myrcella called for her. Arya glanced up from Nymeria. They were by the stables, where the Queen ordered for Nymeria to be chained. The stables was the only place Nymeria was allowed to roam freely now. Myrcella was beautiful with porcelain skin and flaxen hair. She wore a golden gown for the Baratheon colors, and upon her head was a tiara of flowers. When the young Princess caught up to Arya, she panted for air. She then pointed to the flower crown atop her hair, "Do you like it?"

"It is quite beautiful." Arya agreed with her. Honestly, she found nothing special of the daisies, but she simply didn't want to upset the young girl.

"Thank you, Lady Arya."

"Would you care to go riding with me?"Arya offered. Ever since Arya's arrival at King's Landing, she's been forbidden to go riding at all, even just in circles around the stables. The only privilege she's been allowed is playing with Nymeria, but still only in the stables.

"My apologies, Lady Arya, but my lessons were supposed to start already. Maester Pycelle is probably scavenging the Red Keep for me as we speak." Myrcella gave a wry smile as she stroked Nymeria's fur. Arya nodded but hid her sadness as she also played with Nymeria, but only before Myrcella was called away. The same Baratheon Bannerman who summoned the Princess away ordered for Nymeria to be chained up again, upon the Queen's orders. Bitterly, Arya stomped across the Red Keep, without a care that she was causing quite a ruckus. No, she was fed up with the South and all she wanted was to be in Winterfell in the practice fields, riding in the Godswood, hunting with Nymeria, playing with Jon, watching Bran scale the castle's towers, hearing Rickon's innocent bubbling laughter, and even Sansa's insisting hands trying to braid Arya's hair. Yes, Arya missed all of that. She missed it so much that she didn't hear the Prince sneaking up on her in the hallways of the Red Keep.

He tapped her shoulder, and she jumped to the ceiling and reacted like a cat. She grabbed his hand and wrapped it around his own neck, her now behind the man. It was then, that Arya Stark realized she was choking Gendry Baratheon, the heir to the Iron Throne.

"Seven Hells, Arya." Gendry exclaimed. Arya hastily let him go and checked around if there were any witnesses. Sure enough, there were no guards or Bannermen in the hallways around the Prince and the Northern Princess.

"You shouldn't sneak up on me." Arya shrugged.

"Where did you even learn a trick like that?"

"My dancing teacher," Arya smirked when she answered Gendry. He of course, was confused. He looked as if he could ask a hundred questions, but he only shook his head defiantly.

"Come, I want to show you something." Gendry said, trying to get off the subject of how exactly Arya learned how to defend herself. Arya frowned, but still followed Gendry. After all, she had nothing better to do. Together, they walked down the halls, outside to the courtyards, and to the stables. They had small talk of how Arya liked it in the South, where Arya answered honestly; she hated it. Gendry chuckled when he heard her answer. They were now in front of where Nymeria was chained, and where the horses were kept. Gendry undid Nymeria's chains, and the direwolf licked the Prince's face.

"What are you doing?" Arya asked. Gendry took his horse out of the stables, and then another behind him.

"Come on, we're going riding." He shrugged.

"The Queen would never allow it. In fact, she has forbidden for both Nymeria to be chained in the stables, _and_ that I can't ride." Arya didn't know exactly when she started giving a fuck about the Queen, but the words still escaped her mouth.

"Yeah, I know." Gendry went to help Arya mount her horse, but she shook her head and easily mounted herself. He then got on his stallion, and they started out the courtyard, with Nymeria trailing behind. Together, they rode out the Iron Gates and went along Blackwater Bay. Gendry was iron set on keeping Arya miles away from Flea Bottom, so they were forced to take the longer route around the Red Keep. They got odd stares from people, but backed off before they would say or do anything. They were well away from Flea Bottom, so no beggars bothered the Prince of Princess. Perhaps they didn't even know they were the Prince and Princess, because Arya was dressed in her boy's clothes as usual, and Gendry wasn't wearing anything special. In fact, his clothes were slightly stained with dirt from the trip. No guards trailed behind them, but Arya's direwolf did in fact receive many stares. A man tried to pick her up for a reason that Arya wouldn't know, but Nymeria growled and almost nipped the poor man's arm off before Arya stopped her. While escaping the Iron Gates, the guards in fact recognized them, but Gendry dared them to say a word about it and the guards kept silent, letting them pass.

Together the Prince and Princess looked upon the Blackwater Bay with Nymeria sniffing the sand and digging it under her paws. She was probably so confused and used to having snow under her claws, not sand.

"Myrcella told you?" Arya asked. Gendry had the grace to act like he didn't know what Arya was mentioning, but after she gave him a look he only shrugged.

"Yeah," He said. Arya nodded. Myrcella knew that Arya longed to go riding, and for Nymeria to roam freely, and for whatever reason, she decided to tell her brother. When Gendry noticed Arya's far-off look, he said, "She didn't betray you, you know. She only wanted to see you happy."

Arya nodded again. "Of course I know that." And Arya also knew that perhaps Myrcella was hoping for something else as well. During their sparse times together, the Princess would sing-song about how happy Arya would be when she married Gendry, and how adorable of a match it would be, and how it was so romantic of him to crown Arya as his Queen of Love and Beauty. Whenever Myrcella brought those thoughts up to Arya, she would shrug it off and try to change the subject, but Arya knew that Myrcella was already counting down the days for her brother's marriage. Mayhaps Myrcella told Gendry about Arya's wishes, hoping it would bring them closer together.

"Even if you don't enjoy King's Landing, you must admit that Blackwater Bay is a lovely view." Gendry smiled, smug with the thought of proving Arya wrong.

"No." Arya laughed at Gendry's reaction. In fact, it wasn't too bad, but there was no way she would admit that. "You have to see the Godswood up in the North. It is tenfold better."

"It's a promise then."

"What?"

"You will show me the Godswood." Gendry said. Both of their horses stopped now. They were next to each other now, with Arya closer to the shore.

"Oh." Arya looked to the bay, away from Gendry. The sun was already setting and being sunken behind the horizon. "Yeah, I guess." After another few moments of awkward silence, Arya sighed. She might as well open up to him. She's forced to lose her maidenhead to this man eventually anyways. "I hate it here." She groaned, "I want to go back to Winterfell. I want to see my brothers. I want to visit the Godswood. I want to go home." Perhaps the Prince thought she was a whiny prat, but she didn't care.

"Then let's go." He said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Arya looked at him in confusion, but he already reared his horse and he was already on his way back to the Red Keep. "See if you can beat me, Arya Stark." He challenged.

Arya laughed at Gendry's half-filled challenge. Easily enough, she was already ahead of him. She remembered the route they took to Blackwater Bay, and she, the Northerner, lead the Southern Prince back to his own caste. She circled around the stables and her mare pounded the dirt under her impatiently until Gendry finally arrived.

"It seems that I have shamed my family name. I am no longer fit to be the heir to the Seven Kingdoms." Gendry laughed out of breath. "A girl from Winterfell has out ridden me."

Arya stuck her tongue at him while she dismounted her mare. She then lead her to the stables, and unwillingly chained Nymeria again with Gendry following.

"Come on, my family wants to dine with yours tonight." Gendry nudged her. Arya groaned. She hated these dinners more than anything. The King would stare at her the entire night, and the Queen sent her even more vile expressions.

"Fine, but I have to at least bathe first. My mother would send me to the Red Sea and back if she saw me arrive at the dinner like this." Arya gestured at her windblown and dirtied hair and her trousers.

"Yeah, go ahead. I'll keep my parents and yours distracted so they wouldn't notice your absence until later."

* * *

Arya dismissed her handmaidens after her bath was filled with the water. She stripped herself and stepped in with the steam dancing into the air.

"Not yet, my lady. It is still hot." One of her handmaidens warned her. Arya ignored the lady's warnings and submerged herself further into the tub. The water was indeed warm, but not hot enough to scorch her skin. In fact, she preferred it to be even warmer. Nonetheless, Arya dipped her head into the bath and held her breath, thinking about everything that happened earlier. When the idea that she was growing closer to Gendry, and perhaps didn't even hate him anymore, Arya snorted and floated back to air, sputtering water out of her mouth.

Remembering the dinner, she quickly washed the dirt out of her hair and stepped out of the tub while wrapping her body with one of the towels her handmaiden has set out for her earlier. While her hair dried, she tried to find the simplest dress she brought with her to King's Landing and laced herself into an emerald green Northern styled dress, sure to keep her mother happy enough to not yell at her for being late. With her hair now partially dried, she quickly braided it out of her way and let it lay on top of her shoulder.

When she entered the dining hall, all eyes were on her. The Queen looked at her bitterly and shot daggers at Arya's direction. The King leered at her and groped her with his eyes, and especially staring at her wet hair and how the felt dress especially draped over her figure, especially showing off that she indeed isn't a girl, but a woman. Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella smiled at Arya, happy to see her. Margaery looked up from her plate of food and smiled at Arya. Ned was almost humored by Arya's late appearance, but Cat definitely wasn't. Ser Jaime was humored as well as The Imp, each brothers of the Queen. Joffrey sneered at her and then returned to eating his food while sitting next to his older brother. Gendry's blue eyes were shocked for a moment as they eyed her almost as scandalously as the King's, but he quickly looked away. Arya bristled at that, but obviously because he even dared to look at her in the first place.

"Ah, there you are, my Lady." The Imp said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Would you care to join us for supper?"

"I would be delighted, my Lord." Arya replied in the same tone as she took the only empty seat; the one in between the Kingslayer and the Imp, across from the two young Prince and Princesses.

"You look beautiful as ever, Arya." The King said heartily, with a goblet of wine in hand. This was perhaps the first time he has called her by her name, and not her aunt's.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Arya murmured, but only because it was expected of her, and not because she actually was grateful for the King's compliment.

"So, you are to marry my son!" The King laughed. "Are you ready to pleasure him? I am happy for him and yet quite jealous as well. The Northen wenches make love like no other."

Upon his remark, the entire room went silent. Cat and Ned both put down their utensils and stared at the King open-mouthed. The Queen made more of a show slamming her utensils down. Gendry's blue eyes were as wide as his plate in front of him, which he stared at as if he was ashamed of his father. Tommen didn't get the hint and continued eating, unlike Myrcella who gasped. The Imp seemed unfazed by his good-brother's remark, but the Kingslayer's jaw was set in a straight line.

Arya herself was infuriated. Her hand gripped the knife she was readying to slice her pork, but now she was considering stabbing the King instead. _How dare he compare me to a damn tavern wench._ Arya growled in her mind. Before anyone else could speak, her words came out surprisingly more calm than she expected. "Of course, Your Grace. But I am no wench; I am the Northern Princess of Winterfell. Once, I heard some stable boys betting that I would be as fierce as a wolf when I was bedded. When the night comes, you can ask your son."

"You wanton wolf!" Joffrey exclaimed, disgusted with Arya's remark.

Cat choked on her food, and Ned looked as if he wanted to become invisible. The Imp laughed, but the King looked at Gendry with pure jealousy. He didn't even have the graces to hide it.

"Oh sweet nephew, lighten up a bit. Lady Arya only answered your father's question quite honestly." The Imp laughed at Arya's remark. "Actually, I quite enjoy her."

Arya smiled at the Imp, and the Kingslayer laughed along. She never knew that the Queen's brothers would be so different from the Queen herself.

The rest of the night went on with the King sulking along with his goblet of wine. The Queen made an effort to stop the servants from refilling his cup, but the King only demanded more and more. Arya talked with the Queen's brothers and her two young children happily, while Gendry joined in at times. Cat and Ned ate the rest of their meal in silence.

Before anyone could dismiss themselves, Gendry spoke to the entire room, "Father, I wish to visit Winterfell."

"I wish to visit too!" Myrcella practically bounced in her seat. "I've always dreamed of seeing the towers of Winterfell reach the clouds."

"Me as well," Tommen smiled.

"Oh please. Tommen, you are barely old enough to even go outside these castle walls." Joffrey barked as if this conversation wasn't even worth is time.

"I am sorry my sweetlings, but the North is too far." Cersei's words were strained, as if she was trying her best to stay calm.

"Please, mother. If I am to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms one day, I at least want to see what I shall govern." Gendry said calmly while he tried to convince his mother.

"We would be honored to travel with your children on the Kingsroad, if you would so allow it, Your Grace." Catelyn said, respecting the wishes of Cersei's children.

"Ah, yes. If it is about their wellbeing you are afraid of, I shall accompany your children, my sweet sister." The Imp offered with a shrug. "Mayhaps a visit to the North isn't a bad idea. I've wanted to stretch my legs for quite a while."

"Your children will be safe with me, Your Grace. I swear by the Old and the New." Ned added soberly.

"Yes, go have fun." King Robert said with a drunken wave of his hand. "Do as you please."

* * *

And so it was arranged for Lady Margaery, Lady Arya, Princess Myrcella, Lord Tyrion Lannister, Prince Joffrey, and Prince Gendry to take off to the Kingsroad three days after. Ned and Cat couldn't go after all, due to Ned's newfound duties as the Hand. He took to himself in the Tower of the Hand, and Cat agreed to keep him company. Joffrey was forced to accompany them, upon the insisting words of his father. He insisted that Joffrey should accompany his elder brother along his journey, as any other righteous Prince would. Arya was surprised that Cersei was willing to let Joffrey, Gendry, and Myrcella go so far out of her sight with people she hardly trusted, but it was King Robert that made the final words to let them go. Gendry swore to protect his younger siblings along the trip, and Tyrion made an equal vow to watch over his family and Lady Margaery and Lady Arya. Cersei however did manage to keep Tommen, insisting that he was far too young to leave his mother's side for so long.

"Goodbye, my sweet." Cat and Ned both hugged Arya. As much as Arya wanted to return to Winterfell, knew she would miss her parents. But Arya Stark did not let herself cry, although she did not know when she would see her parents again, after however long. "Be safe. Know that we always love you. Give your brothers our love as well."

"Of course," Arya said. After Cat kissed her forehead and Ned ruffled her hair, she was sent off. She didn't want to sit in the carriage next to Joffrey, and although she felt bad for leaving Myrcella and Margaery alone with him, she still didn't want to be damned to hours alone with the wretched Prince. So, she chose to ride alongside Gendry and Tyrion and the rest of the guards and Bannermen sworn to protect them.


	6. The Kingsroad

**Chapter Six**

**The Kingsroad**

* * *

They have travelled a week on the Kingsroad, and yet weren't even near The Trident yet, much to Arya's disappointment. Margaery has requested many stops throughout the day, claiming that the babe has been stirring and didn't enjoy the carriage rides. In those stops, the party would usually wait for a while, until they got too tired and decided to just make camp in the area and rest for the day.

The week on the Kingsroad may as well have been a week bathing in dragon fire. Arya would've preferred that much more, anyways.

Other than Margaery's frequent stops, Joffrey Baratheon himself has been more irritable than ever. The blonde and fair skinned prat of a prince has been nothing but trouble. During the stops, Arya would take it upon herself to walk a bit around the perimeters of the camp with Nymeria. Joffrey has taken it upon himself to make those moments intolerable. He would stop her every time for a chat.

"Good day, my lady." He greeted her as usual. He always wore a smirk on his face that Arya wanted to smack even more than his elder brother. Despite the relations, Joffrey's smirk was somewhat different from the Heir to the Seven Kingdoms; Joffrey's crooked excuse of a smile was always dirtied with foul insults and foolish remarks and selfish wishes. Every night Arya would pray to the Old and The New, thanking them for letting Gendry to be born first. If the Seven Kingdoms were under the younger brother's control, no doubt he would do everything in his power to destroy the lands.

"Hello, m'lord." Arya grumbled and tried to sidestep Joffrey and be on her own jolly way, but he stepped again like a wall to her freedom.

"I am not 'your _lord'_. I am your _prince_. You shall address me as Your Grace_._" Joffrey sneered to her.

"Are you here to grant me lessons, _Your Grace_?" Arya snapped towards the prince, now fed up with him.

"_That is not how you speak to a prince_!" Joffrey was close to screaming now. He had a finger pointed at her, and his face was uglier than The Hound's. Nymeria growled and her fur was prickled, ready to pounce on her owner's insulter, but Arya was quick to pet her direwolf. No fights will be fought today. Not with the Foolish Prince.

"Oh, but you told me to address you as 'Your Grace', which I have done. Are you going against your own lessons, Your Grace?" Arya sighed. All she wanted now was for Joffrey to get out of her view.

"You… _you_…" Joffrey sputtered for the right insult, but before he could spit on her The Imp seemed to appear from nowhere and managed to place his hand on the prince's shoulder.

"Dearest nephew, there you are!" The Imp smiled, but Joffrey's face was still contorted. "Your brother is searching for you."

"He can wait." Joffrey laughed as if attending to his brother's wishes was a useless action. "I need to teach this wolf a lesson."

"Excuse me, _Your Grace_?" Arya's growl was just as menacing as her wolf's.

"Please, _nephew_. We are Lady Stark's honored guests, attending her on the Kingsroad. Her father is the Hand of The King, it would do you good to show some respect." The Imp warned. Before Joffrey could scream in response, his uncle somehow managed to wrap his arm around his nephew's shoulder and practically drag him away and back to the tents. Whilst carrying the Foolish Prince, the Imp called back to Arya, "Good day, Lady Stark."

Amazed and slightly amused, Arya Stark watched the Imp drag away the arguing blonde prince to the camps. When Arya could no longer hear the prince's screams of rage or the soft chuckles of the guards they passed, she pet Nymeria's grey fur again and continued along the trail. The sun was ready to set, she knew. Near their camp was a small lake and a clearing of trees upon a hill. It was far enough for peace, yet close enough for safety. With this knowledge, Arya trudged along the narrow path with the sweltering summer air still melting on her skin.

When the trees started to clear, Arya found the small lake. It glistened against the light that the sun beamed down, and seemed to call and welcome Arya. She sighed and gave in to the pleasures that the lake offered, and dipped her now bare feet in the water. The cool water danced around her skin, offering her relief from the day. Nymeria padded up to her master and laid on the dirt, equally as lazy. So Arya pet her Direwolf's fur, and closed her eyes, truly relishing the moment. It felt so calm in the array of disasters that seemed to be thrown in her way.

Disrupting her window of peace, she heard footsteps and disruption of dirt as two figures, none too silent about their approach, started to come her way. She considered getting up then, and putting on her boots, and walking back to camp. The sun surely must have set by then, and they must be worrying of her. But she thought against it and stayed still, wishing the intruders wouldn't disturb her too much.

"Hello, Lady Arya." Margaery's voice twinkled like the stars with false happiness.

"Look, the wolf is lying in dirt." Arya heard Joffrey's voice sneer at her.

"Is your uncle done babysitting you, your grace?" Arya sighed and remained still, wishing the prince would just leave her be. She didn't pay Margaery much mind either. Margaery only gasped at her tone used with the prince.

"You really shouldn't speak to me that way." Joffrey's voice was closer now. He was most likely behind her, breathing into her ear. Each breath that escaped the boy's lips sent a thousand knives prickling into her skin. His voice was softer now, in more of a taunting tone. "You know, you don't have to marry that foolish brother of mine. If you marry me, you'll still be a Baratheon. I'm sure you'll still be happy either way. No matter which brother you marry, you'll still fuck a Baratheon, and have a Baratheon stirring in your womb."

Arya's eyes shot open at this. Nymeria's growl was low and menacing, almost as a warning signal to her master's offender. Arya's hand was already on the dagger that she kept under her trousers, but she held still other than that. She knew she had to show restraint. If she was younger, she would've clawed his eyes out hours before he could say a word to her, but now she is older. If she were to attack the prince first, who knows what wars he could conjure? So, she was still like stone.

"_Don't touch me_." Was all Arya had to say. Her words were as harsh as eyes and as menacing as a queen's. She could feel Joffrey's breath falter for a second, either from cowering or he was surprised that she dared to speak to him in a tone such as that.

And yet, he went against her orders. Before his fingers could graze her chin, she unsheathed her dagger and placed it under the prince's chin. He tried to run away or jump back, but she grabbed his wrist instead, the wrist he tried to touch her with. Nymeria's growl was louder now, and she would've pounced at Joffrey, if it weren't for Arya's composure. Somehow, the wolf knew Arya wasn't in real danger. A small yelp emitted from Margaery's lips, and she jumped away from the Northern Princess and the Foolish Prince.

"_Arya_!" Margaery exclaimed.

_Why is she calling my name? Why was she even walking with him?_ Arya thought while still poking the dagger at Joffrey's jaw. _She should've yelled Joffrey's name before, while he was harassing me._

"Margaery, stay out of this." Arya growled.

Joffrey breathed in deeply, and for a moment, Arya thought he was ready to yield. But how could she ever be so stupid to believe that the Foolish Prince were to ever do something wise? Against all odds, Joffrey stepped closer to Arya.

"You little _cunt,_" He screamed in her face. He roared the pathetic song of the lions. "Your sister was much easier to lay! She was practically begging me to ruin her maidenhead. You wolves are all mad!"

"Don't you dare talk about my sister!" Arya screamed with all her rage. She gashed the prince's cheek with her dagger, with a line of blood painted on his face. All hell seemed to be released in one second. His hand left Arya's grip and he unsheathed his own sword, too big for his size. He flailed around with it, uselessly trying to jab at her. The peacefulness of the creak was no more.

"_Stop it, stop it Arya, leave him alone!"_ Margaery's voice was as delicate as a flower trying to command a wolf. No one paid her any mind.

Joffrey seemed to get a hold of his sword now, and openly tried to stab her with a killing blow to the heart. His stance was too wide, and his arm was too extended. She easily sidestepped him and used his arm to counterbalance his unsteady stance, and just as quickly disarmed him. She now held his sword in her left hand, and her dagger in her right. She aimed both mercilessly at the prince's heart, paying no mind that he was of royal blood. Nor would Arya have given a rat's arse if he was one of the Seven.

"No." Joffrey fell to the dirt now, and his voice was as quiet as a fly's. He no longer tried to roar as a lion. "No, please don't." His hand was towards Arya, fully yielding. His eyes were pooled with tears, and the cut she granted his cheek earlier was now overflowing with blood. His hand was shaking, and so were his teeth. Nymeria now preyed upon the prince. Her teeth were fully flashed, and her growl could have been heard from there to the Wall. The prince cowered even more, _"Please_,"

_How pathetic._

Arya scoffed and walked to the lake. The prince remained petrified. With all her strength, Arya tossed his sword into the lake. It hit the water with a loud splash, and sank to the bottom. With that, she fled the scene.

* * *

They were all lined up in the limited tent. The Baratheon Bannermen and Stark Bannermen which accompanied each House were huddled in their respective places. In front of them all were Tyrion Lannister, which had his hand gripped on his nephew's shoulder. It might have been a friendly act, but everyone in that tent knew that the Foolish Prince was under his uncle's grip. Next to them was Princess Myrcella. Her eyes were wide, and her face looked of utmost innocence. She knew something bad will come of this, and she didn't want any harm to fall on anyone. The Princess was too foolish to think peace could be kept for so long. Next to the Princess stood Margaery Stark. She claimed to have sickness, but now she looked as sober as her good sister.

In front of them all sat Gendry Baratheon. His hands gripped the sides of his makeshift throne, and he sat up straight and alert. His jaw was set and he looked the most furious than any other attendant. He was appointed to listen to all witnesses and take their pleas into consideration before delivering the final sentence, since he had the most power over everyone else on the Kingsroad. In front of the Heir was his promised love. She stared back at the man on the throne with just as much fury as his.

"You may start, brother." Gendry said under his breath. To anyone else, he might have sounded disappointed, or maybe even sad, but Arya knew he was growling.

"Yes, I was walking in the woods with Lady Margaery, and we happened to walk upon your _Lady_. She attacked me, brother. She had her hands all over me."

"That isn't true!" Arya screamed. Joffrey started to argue as well, but all it took was one look from Gendry, one murderous look, and both of them shut up.

"Yes, she wanted me. She whispered words in my ear. She said she wants to be my bride, but I denied her, and reminded her she was already promised. She bristled, and attacked me."

"None of that is true! You are a liar!" Arya's voice was as scary as the Heir, and everyone in the tent seemed to gasp, but Gendry still seemed to take control.

"Yes, then tell your own story, Lady Stark." His voice was emotionless now.

"I was by the lake, and Joffrey harassed me with his words. I warned him to stop, but then he tried to touch me. I defended myself." Arya's words were as cold as winter. Myrcella was staring wide-eyed at her brother now, as if begging for him to not pass a sentence.

"And Lady Margaery, I take it that you were a witness?" Gendry asked.

"Yes, Your Grace." Margaery stepped towards the throne now.

"Tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true."

"Of course, Your Grace." Margaery nodded her head. Her voice was as calm and soothing as flowers. "I was walking in the woods with your brother, and then we saw Lady Arya. I couldn't remember anything else, Your Grace. It seems my pregnancy is messing with my memories."

_Liar,_ Arya chanted in her head. Margaery was not a Stark. A Stark wasn't growing in her womb. She was raising a flower. She was as much of a flower as a flower could bloom. She was a flower, who swayed with the words of whoever had the highest of power. No, Margaery was never a Stark. They were all liars.

"All the witnesses have spoken, Your Grace. What sentence do you pass?" One Bannerman asked him.

Gendry looked from Margaery, and then turned his gaze to his brother. "You let my Lady disarm you?" His voice was of utter disappointment, yet he still asked the question. Joffrey was silent, and yet people in the tent started to whisper. When Gendry returned his gaze to the crowd however, each voice was silenced. "My sentence is for my brother's current sword's master to be fired at once. Obviously, our prince needs to learn to swordfight."

Some attendants had the nerve to giggle.

"Is that it, Your Grace? What of Lady Stark's wish concerning your love?" Margaery's words had means of offense, and yet she almost sang.

Gendry Baratheon now managed to look to the floor for only a second, and then back to his Lady. His blue eyes were searching hers, looking for even a shred of truth.

"Do you truly wish to continue with the wedding, my Lady?" His voice was softer now. He has meant to ask her this for days now, and he wasn't planning for such an audience, but now seemed the right time to get it over with. "I am sure the King wouldn't mind if we were to annul the arrangement. Your father can find you a… better match."

He knew that Arya couldn't marry him. Today was a warning. Arya couldn't play the Game of Thrones. If she were, she would get burnt from flames. A wolf didn't belong in hell. Gendry could still save her. If she would only take this opportunity…

"No… no, Your Grace. Our promise in the sight of the Old and the New shall still be honored."

Gendry frowned. He knew that his Lady just recited her death sentence.

And that was the moment he decided. He knew that he would do everything in his power to protect her. He will never let this Game be the death of her.

"As you wish, my Lady."


	7. Winter Rose

Within a month, the party arrived to the walls of Winterfell. Gendry Baratheon led the party and was in front of the entire line. Behind him were three Baratheon Bannermen. Behind the Heir and his Bannermen rode The Imp, Joffrey, and Arya Stark. Joffrey sneered at her when she rode horseback rather than ride in the carriage with Margaery and Myrcella, but Arya only ignored his remarks and mounted the horse anyways. Behind her padded Nymeria, and the Stark Bannermen all surrounded their Lady. Behind the horses was the carriage, which held the Princess and Margaery. Surrounding the carriage were Lannister Bannermen. In front of the walls was an equally large party to greet the travelers. Arya couldn't hold in her excitement to finally have returned home. She rode faster and almost passed Gendry until he called for her and suggested they ride next to each other instead. Arya knew it was only for formalities, but she frowned when the Prince decided to finally utter a word to her.

Whilst travelling the Kingsroad, the Prince has taken it upon himself to hide in his tents with his makeshift council which included The Imp, and various Bannermen. Arya didn't ignore the ravens which were constantly sent and received between stops either. The Prince probably, most likely, didn't mean to ignore his Lady, but it still hurt Arya in some sorts.

As the travelers got even closer to the walls, civilians of the city started to line up along the trail. They each watched with wide eyes and their mouths open as the horses and carriages passed them by. Arya didn't fail to notice the gasps when they notice how large Nymeria has grown. Nor did she not fail to notice the bats of eyelashes young ladies would send towards Gendry. Arya snorted, and Gendry looked up from the road and to her with curiosity. She only shrugged, and Gendry looked back towards the road. The Stark and Baratheon and Lannister Bannermen now raised their House flags higher above their heads as they neared the city.

The familiar air of home flew around Arya's skin. It welcomed her and beckoned her closer and deeper into Winterfell. She welcomed the embrace and warmly greeted it like an old friend. Nymeria did the same, and even danced ahead of the party, racing towards the castle. Both the Northern Princess and her Wolf were home, where they belonged.

Now within the walls, Arya pulled on her horse's reigns to stop. Gendry did the same, and they waited until the rest of the Lannister Bannermen trailed behind them and the carriage rolled to a stop. Following Gendry and The Imp's lead, Arya dismounted her horse and placed her hands behind her back, awaiting the greeting. Her brothers found this profoundly amusing, and they couldn't hide it from their faces despite the situation. Arya ended up smiling as well. Robb seemed the same as always; wearing his leather armour with his greatsword strapped to his belt and the fur cape draped around his shoulder. Next to him was Brandon Stark. Arya couldn't believe how much he's aged since her leave. He looked significantly taller now, and even wore armour similar to his elder brother. He even had a bow strapped around his shoulder and a sword around his waist. His Stark features beamed when he laid his eyes upon his sister. Next to Bran was Rickon Stark, the youngest of the pack. His sandy curled hair was as messy as ever acting like a mop on his head. Still training to become a knight like Bran, he wore weapons and armour as well. Greywind, Summer, and Shaggydog each stood behind their respective masters.

When Gendry faced her brothers, each Stark bowed their heads in respect.

"Your Grace," Each brother greeted him. Arya watched in wonder, as it felt odd to her to see Gendry, who she treated with little to no respect, receive so much from her brothers.

"You may rise, Lords Stark." Gendry nodded, and the Stark brothers each rose their heads. Gendry glanced behind him to look at Arya. He nodded, and she followed his lead.

"It is an honor to receive your company, Your Grace." Robb said, still looking at Gendry. When he saw Arya, his voice was tinted with amusement. "And to you as well, Lady Stark."

The two Stark children looked at each other for a while until Arya, ignoring all formalities, jumped into her brother's welcoming arms. She could hear Gendry behind her chuckling, but she ignored him.

"Robb, I missed you." She said when he finally put her down. He smiled, and then Bran and Rickon both engulfed her into a hug that almost crushed her bones. Her younger brothers were growing strong, she knew. "Goodness, you two have grown." She said when she patted Bran and Rickon's heads. They both pouted, as they hated when Arya still treated them as small children, but they all ended up laughing together. Nymeria tottered towards her brothers, and they each greeted each other as well. The wolves were reunited.

"Ahem," A small voice cleared her throat. Each Stark looked from each other and then next to The Heir, which stood Margaery Stark. Her hands were held around her belly, and she had a smile on her face.

"I have missed you, my lady." Robb said while his wife placed her dainty hand in his as she curtsied.

"As I have missed you, my lord." Margaery recited.

Behind them, Tyrion was already leaving the circle of the royal party, muttering something about needing to "loosen up". Baratheon Bannermen helped Princess Myrcella dismount the carriage. Her dress was golden with her house colors, and her hair styled like Arya's, a simple braid. She as well made her way to the welcoming and curtsied in front of the Northern Lords.

"Your Grace," The Stark boys recited. Robb still held his wife's hand and Rickon dipped his head as usual, but Arya didn't fail to notice the prolonged glances the Princess and Bran shared. She looked from her younger brother then to the Princess with utmost curiosity.

"My lords," Princess Myrcella sang.

After the greetings and formalities, the party started to settle in and the Bannermen started their respective shifts. Robb and Margaery walked in the courtyard together, Bran insisted on offering the Princess a tour of Winterfell, and Rickon was sent with some guards to find Tyrion after his disappearance during the arrival. The sun was already beginning to set and for some odd reason, every handmaiden of the castle decided to attack Arya, and not the other ladies occupying Winterfell. As usual, they bathed her, and then scrubbed her skin dry of all the dirt and tear gained from her travels. Then they forced her into another dress, but Arya didn't mind it as much as in King's Landing. Here, she felt like she was home. When Arya was already dressed, Myrcella arrived in the room as well and the handmaidens then flocked to the Southern Princess. Minding herself, Arya tried to sneak out while the handmaidens bathed and swooned over the foreign Princess, and under Myrcella's request, dressed her in a Northern gown like Arya's. Arya, of course, was stopped by one of the handmaidens before she could sneak out, but Myrcella dismissed all of them as soon as she was fully laced up and dressed.

"They can be quite overwhelming," Myrcella sighed as she sat down in front of the looking glass. She then glanced to the reflection behind her, where Arya Stark, the wolf Princess stood. Even before Arya arrived in King's Landing, there were stories and tales of the wild girl. People gossiped that she went riding for fun, had a wolf as large as a bear as a pet, and wore trousers like a boy. Even scarcer whispers claimed that she was as wild as her fabled aunt. Myrcella never knew Lyanna Stark, as she was dead long before Myrcella was even born, but from what she hears, most of the gossip is true after all. Both princesses were as different as day and night, and yet Myrcella looked up to the Northern Princess like her own elder sister. After all, Arya would marry her brother soon enough and they would be real good-sisters then.

The way her heart was now, she didn't have high doubts that she'd become sisters by a marriage of her own…

Although Arya would never admit it, she was indeed quite beautiful. In Myrcella's eyes, she was like a northern goddess. Her beauty wasn't like a traditional angel which most ladies of court strived to achieve. She wasn't gorgeous like Sansa, or Margaery, or even Myrcella herself, but Arya had her own type of beauty. Her beauty was one that the traditional songs the Northern folk sang of. She was as beautiful as the winter's rose.

"You are quite beautiful, Lady Arya." Myrcella voiced her thoughts. Arya only laughed.

"Please, Myrcella. Your brother must have sulked day and night after her learned he was marrying Arya Horseface." Arya scoffed as she stepped closer to the younger princess. "And it's just Arya."

"Don't insult yourself." Myrcella frowned. She would have argued with Arya more and insisted that she was indeed beautiful, but she knew that Arya would just shoot down the compliments. So instead, she breathed and looked into the looking glass. "Would you do my hair for me, Arya?"

Arya raised an eyebrow as she looked at Myrcella's hair. The girl's hair was longer than her own and as it was drying from her bath, it was already starting to curl like Cersei's. "You should ask the handmaidens, not me. I'm completely horrid at stuff like this."

"No, I like how your hair is styled." Myrcella said. "Please oh please, Arya."

Of course Arya was hesitant at first, but then gave in as Myrcella started to beg. So Arya combed the Princess's tangled hair with much more pain than she expected, and then pinned half of it up, like how her own sister used to do. The style suited the Princess quite well, should Arya admit. When she was done, she did the same to her own hair. She never really liked the idea of doing each other's hair and dressing, but Princess Myrcella proved not to be bad company. She didn't sing songs of formalities like the other birds of King's Landing, but instead spoke her mind around Arya. It reminded Arya a bit of Sansa, which made another unnecessary hole in her already disoriented heart.

_I need a drink, _Arya decided.

* * *

As soon as Bran Stark laid eyes on her, he knew.

The Lord of Winterfell had his heart for the Princess of the South.

And the Welcoming Feast did not help his situation at all.

He loved the way her milky skin was perfectly soft and smooth as snow. He loved how her golden hair was perfectly curled at the ends and bounced with every step she took. He loved the way the corner of her eyes lifted whenever he made her laugh. He loved the way her teeth shown while he made her smile. He loved the way she could make him feel alive and at ease. He loved Princess Myrcella.

It's strange how love works like that. How you can barely know a woman for even a day and you were already uncontrollably in love with her.

Yes, it was strange. Strange indeed.

So while his sister and his love descended the staircase which led to the feasting hall, he couldn't keep his eyes off her. She smiled towards him, and he returned the smile. Arya shot him looks of amusement as if she was silently teasing him, being the elder sister watching her younger brother swoon over a girl, but he did his best to ignore them as he asked the Princess for a dance. She agreed, and so the young Lord and Princess danced together to the other occupants' drunken voices attempting to sing and the instruments playing Fifty-Four Turns. It was a drinking song about lords who took fifty-four turns of ale. Myrcella recognized it as one of her father's favorite songs to be sung during feasts.

Everyone in the Feast was drunk, that was for sure. Women that attended squealed as a drunken man tried to get more than bargained. Robb Stark sat next to his pregnant lady wife, overlooking the Feast. A bearded smile played on his face. This was a Northern Feast, that was definite. _What a way to welcome his Southern Guests_, he thought. His wife held his hand and they talked amongst each other of how the South was to her liking, and her uneventful journey on the Kingsroad.

Tyrion Lannister was somewhere lost in the crowd of Northerners. Rickon Stark has left the Feast long ago to continue his restless training for his Knighthood. Joffrey was sitting at the table with Robb Stark, staring bitterly at the entire scene. _Savages, the lot of them, _he thought to himself. _Just like their damned Princess._

Gendry grew restless of sitting on the table where the rest of the nobles sat, so he got up in search of his "Lady", to find her chugging down a rather full tankard of Dornish Wine. When her head rose from the wine, her eyes were glazed over and it took her a while to comprehend it was the Prince standing in front of her.

"It reminds you of another feast not so long ago doesn't it?" Gendry mused, thinking of the feast thrown in honor of Lady Sansa and his uncle's, Lord Renly's wedding. A Cask of Ale was now sung by the occupants, another favorite of his father's.

"Go away." Arya grumbled. It was all too familiar for Gendry to fear now. So as usual, he came closer to her. Unlike other times though, she now immediately backed away and put her hand up. "I mean it, don't come closer." Apparently, the woman was sober enough to place her hand upon her thy, which without a doubt sheathed her dagger or even her sword. Who knew.

"Seven Hells," Gendry muttered as he stepped back and put his hands up as if surrendering. "What's wrong?"

"_What's wrong_?" Arya repeated as if amused he would dare to ask. "You ignored me the entire moon's turn on the Kingsroad, while your own brother treated me like his little toy. You didn't even try to do anything, Gendry." Arya wasn't shouting, but the venom in her words seemed to strike Gendry. She meant for it to hurt, anyways. _I thought… I thought you wanted to become closer, _she wanted to say, but bit her lips before any more words could escape.

In all the men in her life, they all either teased her, or ran away in fear. Not that she minded, most of the time. She was the one usually to cause most of the scenes of them running away, but Gendry was the first one to find her ways to his own amusement. He was the first one to want to become closer. He was the first one that cared for her after Jon left. _Jon._ The name in her mind itself sent an uneasy shiver to her core with the absence of her half-brother. She instantly flipped the tankard back to her lips, downing every last drop.

Gendry sobered quickly, and his face was back to the serious one he always wore on the Kingsroad. Arya knew it as the mask he wore while he had to be Gendry Baratheron, the Heir of the Seven Kingdoms, and not… _Gendry_.

"Look Arya, this isn't the place or the time." Gendry tried to reason with her.

"You had the entire moon's turn."

"Arya," Gendry now placed his hand on her wrist before she could walk away. "I want to tell you, I do. Just...not tonight,"

Arya flung her wrist away from the Prince's grasp and stomped away from him. Somewhere deep in her heart she knew he didn't deserve such treatment, but it still felt satisfying.

* * *

The next morning came faster than intended. As the moon set and the sun rose, the castle was already cleaning up the mess from the Welcoming Feast the night before. Only Myrcella was present at the feasting table for breakfast while around her the mess from the Feast was already partially cleaned. Bran was already practicing his marksmanship by the time she was awake, Tyrion has been in the whorehouse, Margaery and Robb were busy in the court session while Joffrey attended, Arya has been in the practicing field since dawn, and Gendry has been out of his chambers earlier since.

"You know," Arya looked up from where she was swinging her sword madly to see her youngest brother watching her from a distance. "You have killed the air long ago, Arya."

"Rickon," Arya sighed and paused to catch her breath. Rickon was leaning against the nearby wall with his sandy curled hair still disheveled on his head. Summer instantly went to his sister, Nymeria. While growing up in Winterfell, she was never close to Rickon as he was too young, but now he wasn't so far off. "Shouldn't you be training with Bran?"

"I was training last night," Bran shrugged and then glanced around the otherwise empty practice field. "Where is the Prince?" The day the raven arrived to Winterfell relaying the message that Arya was now promised to the Heir of the Seven Kingdoms, all brothers present held their breath in shock and disbelief. Now, Rickon was purely curious of their relationship.

"Not here," Arya's attitude returned as she continued to dance and slash at the air.

"I saw him at the forge helping Mikken this morning, but I thought he would be here with you by now."

"Why in the Seven Hells was he in the forge?" Arya demanded.

"I didn't ask." Rickon shrugged. Arya continued to slash at the air. "You should go see him, though. He seemed in a bad mood as well."

"Why would that make me want to see him?"

"Well, you two are promised, aren't you?" Arya instantly stopped her maneuver and glanced toward her brother. Despite Rickon's age, he was still the shyest and the most innocent and honest of the Stark children. _He was like Ned_. "Shouldn't you try to become closer?"

"It isn't that simple, Rickon."

"All I'm suggesting is you go see him. If you want, go talk to him, but at least stop by." Rickon suggested. Arya grunted, but agreed for the sake of her brother. They sparred a few times, but Arya always won. After both children were both worn out, and all the lost times were made for, Rickon dismissed himself to go check if Bran was still practicing his marksmanship, running off while Summer padded close behind. Arya smiled as she watched her youngest brother. She then decided it was far past the time to follow his advice. He wanted to talk, after all. Maybe it really was her that was being the stubborn one.

As she walked across the courtyard, the familiar feeling of being home seeped into her bones and instantly lightened her mood. She never did realize how homesick she was until she truly returned. When she arrived at the stables, she could already hear the sound of the anvil and the steel singing. It reminded her of some days when she was a young girl and she would find Jon helping Mikken in the forge. Instead when she stepped behind the stables and to the forge, she didn't find her half-brother. Instead, she found a half naked man pounding a hammer against a glowing sword. Sparks flew off the steel, and he dipped the sword back into the water. The sizzle and pop was soothing to his ears, and it seemed to calm him as he continued to work on his labor.

Arya's eyes widened a little. His muscles on his back as he turned was outlined, and the veins seemed to pop a little from his muscled arms. She could see the beads of sweat dripping down his skin, and his hair was in a mess above his head. He didn't look like Gendry Baratheon at all. Now, he looked like Gendry. And that's how she liked him.

Gendry picked up the sword from the water and began to swing it around, testing its balance. Arya frowned and cleared her throat.

"You should stand sideface."

Gendry instantly turned and pointed the sword at the intruder. She knew he was trained since birth in the art of sword fighting, but there were still a few mistakes. When he realized it was her, he put his arm down. "_What?_"

"Sideface," Arya shrugged. "It makes for a smaller target."

Gendry glanced around and then looked back to Arya. "Am I fighting anyone?"

"No," Arya instantly replied, and the venom from the previous night seeped into her voice, "but you're practicing for one."

Gendry's expression softened when he realized Arya's true reason for her visit. He sighed and went to the bucket of clean water which he kept next to him and dipped his hair in, attempting to clean it as much as possible. He put the sword back down next to the forge, and then dressed himself in the cotton shirt he was wearing before. On top of that he strapped on the leather tunic gifted to him on his arrival. Arya watched this all, waiting for him to say something.

"Is there some place we can talk?"

"We're talking right now," Arya shrugged as she pointed to the forge.

"The walls have ears, Arya." Gendry whispered. Arya would have insisted there were no spies in Winterfell, but with the visitors from the South, she wasn't quite sure of anything anymore.

"The Godswood," She nodded. No, there wouldn't be any spies there. It was holy ground. Who would disrespect holy ground of the North? Gendry nodded as well, and she leaded him towards the stables. They each mounted a horse and trotted to the Godswood in silence. When they arrived in the forest, the Southern Prince looked around him in amazement. The soil instantly became soft and supple under his feet, and the leaves were of the richest emeralds. Somehow, the sky above them instantly turned to the most innocent of blues, and the lake was as clear as crystals. Arya walked to the Heart Tree and sat down at the hem of the lake. Nymeria was behind her, and also sat down as Arya pet her fur. The Heart Tree's trunk was as white as snow, with leaves as red and pink as flowers in the South. A face seemed to be carved in the knots of the trunk, but Gendry decided it was his imagination. He too sat by the lake and next to Arya.

As Arya dipped her hand into the pond, ripples bounded off her touch, and she picked up a floating blue winter rose. She cupped it in her hand and held it there, waiting for Gendry to speak.

"While we were on the Kingsroad, you must have noticed the ravens flying to and from each night we camped." Gendry spoke slowly, and Arya nodded, still holding the frosty blue rose in her palm. "My father has heard word of rumours of the Targaryens across the Narrow Sea. They say she has dragons."

The winter rose in Arya's hand seemed to wither away.

"That's impossible. The last of the dragons died long ago, you showed me their bones." Arya insisted. "They're only rumours." But she knew that rumours always sprung from some truth of sorts. But she didn't want to believe a word of it. If it was true that the dragons were returning, they would lay waste to all of the Seven Kingdoms, laying each noble house to ashes and claiming the Iron Throne. Hell would be unleashed.

"My father wanted to send a party and assist them across the Narrow Sea to find and kill them himself, but the Hand, your father, insisted it was only rumours."

The King's suggestion was worth a thought, but it was impossible to cross the Narrow Sea and search all the lands for but two people.

"If the Seven Kingdoms would unite in war against dragons, would the dragons win?" Arya's voice was but a whisper now. The winter rose has drowned in the pond.

"They've done it before." Gendry looked down at the pond, not wanting to see Arya's desperation. Arya lay her head on his shoulder now, both looking at the pond. "They could come to Westeros tomorrow, next moon turn, next year… who knows, Arya?" Arya knew that the King was too fat, too drunk, and too old for war. They would send Gendry off instead. He would be killed and burnt to ashes. Her brothers would all die. Her father would die. Winterfell would be burnt to the ground. War would break loose and cause an unstated frenzy across all the lands. Her father already knew war once, he needn't know it again.

"They are only rumours," Arya whispered.

"Yeah," Gendry agreed. He liked that better.


	8. Three Ravens

As the frost melted off the tips of the trees and the butterflies started flying again and the winter roses started to shrivel, the Queen in the North's babe was born. All of Winterfell rejoiced as the announcement of their new Princess came to their ears. The babe's face was small, with blue eyes and a tuft of curled tawny hair. She had a small nose and thin lips for a babe, and her skin was white as milk and cream. The Queen and King in the North named their child Jessamine, and the Northerners danced and cheered to Jessamine, their new Princess in the North.

The guests from the South have stayed in Winterfell for more than a moon's turn now, and it was evident they would be summoned to their own city anytime soon. The Heir spent his days either attending court, in the blacksmith, in the practice field helping the Lords of Winterfell train, or with his own promised Lady. It wasn't a secret that Arya and Gendry have grown closer than when they arrived. Few whispers and words of gossip seemed to spread from lips of those who witnessed their affections; words of either disbelief that their Lady has grown fondly to the Prince, or that she was already no longer a maiden. If Arya ever heard those words herself, she'd only laugh at how oblivious they were. Truthfully, the only time they spent together was in the Godswood during bleak moments of the day, watching the ice slowly melt as winter seemed to end and summer was born.

He would tell her stories of growing up in King's Landing with his brothers and sister, and of how Joffrey was a prick since birth. Arya would laugh, and she'd tell him of how she and her sister would fight and argue of stupid matters, and not stand down until their mother was forced to step in. Then he told her of life in King's Landing. Then she told him the story of when her father found her first sword. Then he reminded her that ladies don't swordfight. She called him an idiot prince, and he called her his lady.

A raven was sent to the Capitol with word of Jessamine's arrival, and a week's time later, two ravens returned. One was from the Hand of the King, Eddard Stark. He wrote of his and Catelyn's happiness and joy with the knowledge that their grandchild was born as a healthy babe. The second letter was written from the King himself, with summons to his city for the wedding of his son to the Hand's youngest daughter. When Robb told his sister, his eyes were wide with shock and equal disbelief.

"No, that's not true." Arya shook her head as she paced back and forth in her chambers. "No, they said they would give me… give us time. They said we would wait."

"Arya…"

"No, I can't get married! Not now…" Arya's head was spinning. "No, not now! I have to stay _here,_ at home, with you and Bran and Rickon! I can't just _leave_. No, I still have to visit Jon… I still have to perfect my water dance, I still have to travel Westeros and across the Narrow Sea and back… and live, Robb!"

"Arya, marriage isn't like that. You're not caged."

Arya shook her head again. It felt as if spiders of ice were crawling on her skin, and she could almost hear roaring through her ears. "You're the King in the North. Nobody could cage you." Arya muttered.

"Arya, you would've had to marry one day. You can't just live like this. This is the best match you'll get; you already know him, you're already _close_ to him. When I married, I barely even knew Margaery, only her name and that our families would benefit from our marriage." Arya could hear her brother's temper starting to rise with his sister's childish acts, but she only frowned again and her eyes were of utter loss and despair.

"They're going to make me _Queen_, Robb." She paused now, and her brother was silent. "This is Sansa's dream, not mine. She's always dreamt of being Queen and marrying a prince like in her songs. I… I'm not meant to be… to be _Queen_!"

"The Queen… Cersei wouldn't step down so soon, Arya." Robb's voice was sober, and his gaze was to the floor. "You'd still have time."

Silence fell upon the room.

"Wolves don't survive in the South." Arya whispered now.

"You won't be a wolf. You'll be a stag."

* * *

"You'll be leaving soon." Bran spoke to her in soft gentle words.

"Yes, I know." They both gazed from the tower and to the never-ending skies around them. The last of the winter wind sent a chill through the Princess's bones, and she shivered. Both the Lord and the Princess were silent now, only listening to the soft song of the wind and the low voice of Summer in his slumber.

"Will my sister be happy?"

"I think so. Lady Arya seems to enjoy my brother's company. I'll be with her as well." Myrcella continued to gaze out from the tower's window. She liked to spend her days in the tallest tower, and it was routine now for him to climb up to meet her. The first few days they only talked and she would applaud his bravery and skill of climbing, and he would act humble and shy. The next week's worth they only talked until, the Princess acted on impulse and kissed the Lord of the North. He held her close, and she welcomed his embrace. Every night would usually end at that, but now they sat at a distance apart, with Myrcella by the edge of the window and Bran leaning on the wall.

They were silent again, and even the wind seemed to stop dancing. Summer perked his ears up with the sudden change of environment, but paid no mind and returned to sleep.

Myrcella's shoulders were shaking now, and the silence was broken as she whimpered and hastily wiped tears away before they could drop from her eyes.

"Cella…"

The Princess's cries of despair only continued and grew.

A third raven arrived at the castle that morning, one addressed to the Princess herself. The Queen in the North smiled as she handed it to her, and acted as if it was something of great prosperity and joy. With a final smile for good luck, the Queen departed from Myrcella's chambers and danced away to her own child. As soon as Margaery left her room, Myrcella tore open the letter to read of her father's summons to her for the announcement of her betrothal to Lord Trystane Martell. Tucking the letter in her sleeve, she ran to the towers. When Bran found her, all she had to do was hand him the note from the South.

"Your mother wouldn't let you marry. She treasures you far too much to let you go."

"I am nearly five-and-ten. Lord Varys and Lord Baelish along with my father might have finally forced her to give me up. Maybe even my uncle was involved in this as well."

"I'll go with you." Bran's words were filled with hope, but Myrcella shook her head.

"It's only going to delay the inevitable."

"Arya is the bride, and I should be going anyways. It's my sister's wedding." He sat next to her now, and they both looked out from the tower's window. "Everything will be okay."

"And if it won't?"

"Then we'll find a way."

* * *

As the time for the party's departure grew closer, word of a deserter came to the castle. Robb was sent for the execution, and Bran and Rickon obediently accompanied him. Gendry followed as well, as he saw it was appropriate. The man had wiry brown hair and accumulated dirt on his face. His eyes constantly darted around him, as if expecting something to jump at him any second. When Robb reminded him of his Oath he took in the Night's Watch, the man nodded solemnly.

"I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned 'em but… I saw what I saw. I saw White Walkers." His voice was bleak, and only the howl of the wind and the flapping of the Stark banners were heard as the man paused. Each Northern Man looked to each other with wide eyes. "If you can get word to my family… tell them I'm a coward. Tell them I'm sorry."

Robb hesitated for the slightest second before nodding towards the men behind him, signaling for them to bring him down to the block. The deserter didn't struggle, but willingly let them grab his shoulders and push his head down into the little notch. With Ice, Robb bowed his head and recited his oath. When it was finished, Ice was brought down and the man's head dropped to the grass.

* * *

"My brother is looking for you." Joffrey leaned against the barn fence, where he woke his uncle of his slumber. "We leave for King's Landing today."

Tyrion yawned and stretched his arms before getting up and pointing to Joffrey. "Before you go, you will call on Lord and Lady Stark and offer your congratulations."

"What good are my '_congratulations_' to them?" Joffrey scoffed as his uncle pushed him aside from the fence so he could start walking towards the castle.

"Nothing," Tyrion yawned again, "but it is expected of you. Your absence has already been noted."

"Their child means nothing to me." Joffrey shrugged while placing a hand on his sword. "And besides, I can't stand the wailing of babies-"

Before another sound could be muttered from his mouth, Tyrion's hand met his nephew's cheek in a sharp slap. The sound resonated through the field, and Joffrey screamed.

"One word and I hit you again."

"When we return, I'm telling-" Tyrion was practically laughing now as he slapped his nephew again. Joffrey screamed again and rubbed his cheek in pain. "You can't-" Another slap hit the prince's cheek.

"Now _go_!" Tyrion ordered his nephew. Joffrey glared a thousand swords at his uncle, but the Imp simply did not flinch. He stood as tall as any other man, and as brave as a true lion.

With a final groan of disgust, Joffrey stomped away from his uncle and to Robb and Margaery Stark.

* * *

With a string of goodbyes and prayers for luck, Myrcella Baratheon, the two Lords and the Lady of Winterfell, Tyrion Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon, and the Heir to the Iron Throne were on the Kingsroad for the marriage of Arya Stark and Gendry Baratheon. The journey to King's Landing was even more tiresome than to Winterfell, with the heat of the impending summer on their shoulders, yet without Margaery stopping the party every hour or so, they made it to the city in due time.

Arya sat alone now, next to Nymeria. She was in her designated tent for the night, and she was already in her night slip with her hair pleated on her shoulder. They have been travelling for almost a moon's turn, and were expected to arrive the following morning. Her heart beat unsteadily, and her mind was swimming for some escape.

They can't force her to marry… her father certainly wouldn't let them, would he? There were so many things wrong with the betrothal. She thought of Gendry as a friend, maybe even a brother. Now he was going to be her husband, her lover even. It was an impossible thought, but it still made her heart flutter the slightest. From the anxiety, of course. She shouldn't even be betrothed at all. This is all the King's fault. Arya started to curse the King in her head.

"May I come in?" Arya's thoughts were interrupted when she heard Gendry's voice from outside her tent. It was the exact voice she dreaded to hear.

"Suit yourself." Arya didn't move her head up from her knees when the Prince entered her tent. His leather armor was removed, and now he wore his tunic and cloak. He sat down next to Arya, and neither of them dared to speak to each other until Gendry was fed up.

"I see you've been avoiding me." He said. Arya didn't reply because it was true. Every chance that he had to be with her, she'd always claim she's busy, or run off to her tent saying she was too tired. "We should be arriving tomorrow."

"I know," Arya said. She still didn't dare to look at Gendry. She felt betrayed. She knew it wasn't exclusively his fault, but her walls were already built. "Do you know when the wedding will be?"

"I'll try to ask my father to postpone it… if you wish." Gendry looked at her again. She still didn't raise her head, but she could still define his tone. Now, he was speaking to her as Prince Gendry Baratheon, the Heir to the Iron Throne, her betrothed. He wasn't speaking to her as just _Gendry,_ her friend. He was doing her what he thought as liberties, his "duty".

"Do you think he would if you ask?" Arya questioned.

"I'm not sure." Something in Gendry seemed to deflate upon Arya's answer, and his gaze finally flicked away from her, and to the tent's entrance. "But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try."


End file.
